A Night to Remember
by Mars on Fire
Summary: Tim Shepard faces a tough choice: flunk his senior year or participate in a school-sanctioned activity. Even worse, he doesn't get to pick-Principal Casing chooses for him, and his pick leaves no doubt he wants Tim to fail. But if Tim's going down, he's taking everyone with him...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders, the Tulsa school district owns Will Rogers High, and I own Anne and good ol' Donna. Tim owns nothing … yet.

**Summary:** Tim Shepard faces a tough choice: flunk his senior year or participate in a school-sanctioned activity. Even worse, he doesn't get to pick-Principal Casing chooses for him, and his pick leaves no doubt he wants Tim to fail. But if Tim's going down, he's taking everyone with him ...

**Author's Note: **Writing a young(er) Tim Shepard is a bit of a challenge. I feel like he wasn't born so much as sprung forth fully-formed from the head of Zeus. At any rate, I'm giving it the ol' college try lol. Hopefully this will be fun.

Much thanks to Artemis Rex for the summary. Mwah!

Chapter one has a line stolen from _Naked Lie_, and hopefully a decent cliffhanger.

* * *

**A Night To Remember**

XXXX**  
**

_**March 1965**_

Tim Shepard leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the voice of Mr. Philips, droning on and on about polynomials or something.

It was easy to be a million miles away in Philips' class. He was way past retirement age, had a monotone voice and a preference for addressing everyone as Mister or Miss, only he wasn't doing it to be polite.

Tim glanced around the classroom, satisfied Philips was keeping himself busy scrawling numbers on the board. He closed his eyes again, his head aching from a punch he'd taken in the back of the head the night before. Some pussy at the Dingo thought he'd been looking at his girl. His girl was something to look at alright, but not to make moves on. The broad was ugly as hell, and Tim told the punk who called him out that it was a miracle the mirrors hadn't shattered in all of Tulsa County from having to put up with her face.

The guy had puffed up, cursed him out, then stormed away. Tim had gone back to his car, only to get belted in the head a few moments later. The asshole had waited until he turned his back. That didn't go over so well with their crowd, and when people started circling around the guy, he seemed to recognize his mistake. Too late for him.

He was lucky he hadn't busted his hand hammering the guy's face into jelly, his Frankendate screaming blue murder at him. As it was, his knuckles were barely scabbed over, air stinging them all day. He hadn't bothered with bandages – that was a pussy move unless your guts were hanging out.

He reached his hand back and felt the back of his head. Yep, there was a goose egg there alright. He should've known better than to turn his back, and that was on him.

"Mr. Shepard?" Philips' voice broke into his thoughts.

He slowly pulled his hand back around his head, realizing Philips thought he'd just raised his hand to answer. What, he didn't know.

People in class had turned to look. Before he got the chance to make a smart ass remark, the door opened and the principal, Mr. Casing, strode into the room.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said. "Timothy Shepard. My office."

Saved by the hacked off principal.

Tim got up, aware of the gazes on him. Kids didn't even bother to ooh and ahh like they would if it was anyone else. People just accepted he'd done something. He likely had, but until he knew what Casing thought he'd done this time, he'd keep his mouth shut.

Tim followed Casing wordlessly through the school hallways. The place always creeped him out when no one was around. It was silent now, everyone in their classes pretending to be interested.

Tim followed Casing into the outer office, where secretaries sat typing, the staccato strikes of the keys on the Selectrics like machine gun fire in the office.

Casing moved through a labyrinth of small hallways to his office. Tim knew the way pretty well - he bet if he tried, he could do it with his eyes shut.

Casing's office was carpeted in a thick, dark green carpet, with long gold drapes on the window and his show piece, a large mahogany desk, sitting right in front of the window. Tim figured he meant it to look opulent, but it was pretty hard to keep up that game when the shitter near the gym backed up twice a week.

One wall was lined with diplomas and citations, and another was lined with bookcases filled with books whose spines hadn't even been cracked. Casing was for show, and knowing it made it easy to write the man off.

Casing sat down in his leather chair, and it groaned and creaked at the man's weight. Tim stood there, then sat down in one of the other chairs, a hard back plastic chair. Casing liked to play little games like this. Maybe it worked with those rich kids, but making him sit in a plastic chair while Casing surrounded himself in leather wasn't going to put him off one bit.

"Timothy, I've heard some disturbing things from the truant officer."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"Since December, you have been absent without an excuse for ... " Casing shuffled through papers on his desk. "Ah. You've been absent thirty-two days. Thirty-two."

"I was trying for an even forty," he said. It was hard to resist. Something about the man - maybe it was the weariness in his face - made Tim want to bat him around like a tomcat does with a mouse he's caught.

"You've been hanging around Mr. Mathews too long," Casing said under his breath.

"So what's the deal?" He was waiting for the pamphlets - the change-your-life bullshit they always pushed at him. Fact was, school was boring. He was surprised it had taken this long for them to get wise to him skipping out after checking in at homeroom for attendance and then slipping out the back door and into Bill's car. He liked to show up, check on the boys, find out what was going on with everyone, then split. They'd spend the afternoon shooting pool at Jimmy's old man's place and it was a lot more entertaining than history and math.

"The deal, Mr. Shepard, is that at this rate of absence, you won't be able to pass the twelfth grade."

Tim tried not to smile. Midterms had just passed for the semester, and he'd done alright. Nothing below a C minus. And it was damn hard work sometimes. He could have walked into most of those classes and done a lot better than anyone out there expected, but it wasn't worth it. Brains could get you far - he already knew he had more than most of the boys he ran with put together - but telling people about them was a sure fire way to lose your standing.

No way his gang or any grease worth his shit wouldn't give him hell forever if he walked out of anything but shop class or gym with an A. It didn't bother him. He knew he knew the material, so a couple wrong answers brought his average into comfortable territory. His mother didn't give a shit, and life was good.

"My grades that bad?" he asked, resisting the urge to raise an eyebrow at the principal. Casing glanced down at his paperwork - he suspected the lack of F's was glaring.

"You're passing," Casing admitted. "Barely. This isn't the way you want to leave school."

"Yeah? Why's that? You think all them colleges are gonna come knocking? Let me tell you, that'd put my mother in an early grave if that ever happened."

"'All those colleges', Mr. Shepard," Casing sighed. "You could at least attempt decent grammar while you're here, make me feel like I'm not wasting my entire life."

Tim's lips twitched. Every so often he wondered if Mr. Casing didn't have a sense of humour in there after all.

"Fact is, some of that time I missed was cuz I was in jail," Tim said. "Can't fault me for that."

"I can't fault you for being in jail at seventeen?" Casing asked, his eyebrows disappearing under a swath of greying hair as he raised them.

"They were misdemeanours, every one of 'em."

Casing's shoulders slumped for a moment, and the man looked completely defeated. He straightened up and looked at Tim with some intensity a moment later.

"Jail or not, you need to start attending. We've already placed a telephone call to your parents about this."

Six years later he still didn't like hearing Hank's name associated with the word 'parent.'

"What do they have to do with this?"

"What do they - ?" Casing sighed again. "Timothy, you're seventeen. They have everything to do with this. You have to start attending class. The truant officer isn't going to stand for this anymore. Do you have any idea what he does when cutting classes becomes habitual?"

He did know, and that was the problem.

"They'll refer you to a social worker, and they'll think about a boys' home. Something to straighten you out."

He wondered if the principal even realized the threat of a boys' home didn't scare him anymore. Ever since he got thrown into the reformatory at thirteen there wasn't a damn thing they could throw at him that would scare him.

Problem was, he couldn't afford to go anywhere. Not right now, not the way things were at home. Maybe not ever.

"So what do I gotta do? Sign something saying I'll go to class? Give it over, I'll sign."

"I don't think you're understanding me, Timothy," Mr. Casing said. "This is a serious problem. You have been absent, yet you are somehow miraculously passing your classes, and don't think I'm not suspicious about that. This school is not a place for you to socialize, nor is it a place for you to appear when you are bored and there's no action going on out there."

Adults sounded so stupid when they used slang. Tim looked out the window. He could see Bill's car circling the block. The final bell would ring any second.

"I told you, I'll come to classes."

"You'll come to classes, and you'll participate at this school."

Tim turned toward Casing. "Participate how?"

"You are required, as a senior student, to participate in a school activity. It's part of the homeroom grade you're given. You've been absent so often your participation grade is at failing. You're going to have to get involved in this school if you want to graduate."

Tim's stomach hardened. He did _not_ like the sound of this.

"Involved?"

Casing nodded. "Involved. You need an extra-curricular activity to boost that participation grade enough to pass. Coupled with attending all of your classes, that should pass you. So you'll join a club or participate in a sport and do something to involve yourself at this school."

He honestly couldn't stop himself from laughing. "You got a real sense of humour."

"I'm not laughing, Timothy," Casing said. "If you don't participate, you don't pass. Now, I know that may seem like an idle threat to someone who doesn't come to class on a regular basis, but you aren't stupid, Timothy. You _are_ coming to class, and you haven't dropped out. You do the bare minimum to get by, but you get by. So I have to think it must mean something to you."

He shifted in his seat. He could drop out. He wasn't stupid; he knew it, and everyone else knew it. Sure, Dallas was a drop out and he was as dumb as a bag of rocks, but Bill was a drop out too and people respected him. It didn't matter.

"Your mother wasn't too happy to hear you've been cutting class. I told her you'd have to get involved with the school and she agreed."

Of course she agreed. She'd agree to anything if they thought it would help him. She'd agree to anything at two in the afternoon when her ass was parked in front of the television, watching _Search for Tomorrow_ and _The Guiding Light_ with a drink in her hands, settling off into a nice daze of pain medication. She'd agree even more when Hank would get home and pitch a fit about all the trouble he was causing. Shit.

"So what am I in for?" he asked. "Cheerleading team need a manager?"

"No," Casing said, shutting up the folder, which Tim now suspected was his. It was pretty thick. "I figured you might suggest something like that, so I've chosen the activity for you."

XXXX

Anne Macdonald moved down the deserted hallways, her best friend Donna Newbury at her side. She loved it when school was out - the building always seemed so cozy and friendly to her.

"This is a bad idea," Donna sighed.

"No, it's not, it's the best idea I've had," Anne said. "Next year is our senior year. The last chance we have at doing something worthwhile at this school. This is our chance to make a great impression. Don't you want to make a great impression?"

"Not if it means hanging out with Christine Weston," Donna said. "I saw her name on the sign up sheet outside the office. You know more than I do that no matter what, we are not getting in that inner circle."

Christine Weston was a junior just like they were. She was tall, blonde, pretty, even if it was in an icy way. She was the head B squad cheerleader, sure to take over the head A squad position from Brenda Matheson next year, since Brenda was graduating. Christine was also on Student Council, in the Red Cross and played the flute in the orchestra.

Cheerleader tryouts hadn't gone well for her. She'd struggled with the routine, and Christine, looking down at her, had cut her during the first round. Christine was one of those lucky souls who was good at just about everything. Secretly ... well, secretly Anne wasn't even going to voice what she thought, because Donna would rub it in all the live long day. Donna didn't have a lot of patience for the crème de la crème of Will Rogers High School society, but it was important to her.

So it wasn't a surprise Christine was heading up the committee for the juniors. She shouldn't have been surprised Donna noticed either.

"Anne, hold on a minute."

Donna was stopped in the hallway, her French homework under one arm. She had her head tilted to the side. Her dark hair had a slight bouffant at the top, and she flipped the ends up. Donna wasn't one to trifle with hair. She found a style that worked for her and kept it up.

Anne had gone through everything from a page boy (big mistake with her face shape), a beehive (gave her headaches), and the disaster of all disasters, the perm. She came out looking like Bozo the Clown. All she needed was the whistle.

Her first year of high school hadn't been kind thanks to that.

Now her hair was up in an easy ponytail, adorned with ribbons. She supposed she looked about fourteen, but at least it wasn't a perm.

Donna was still looking at her warily. Anne didn't like that look. She knew that look.

"This is a dumb idea."

"It is not," Anne said. "Look, we join the committee, we plan a great event for everyone, we hob knob with school royalty and then next year we actually get invited to the beer blasts and the parties. Donna, do you know how humiliating it was to hear a sophomore - a sophomore! - gave a party last weekend and all the senior and junior Socs went? A lot of the middle class kids too. We weren't invited, but they went to a _sophomore_ party."

"It was Cherry Valance, and you know as well as I do she's the next Brenda Matheson." Donna flipped her hair with little concern. "You also know it probably burned Christine so bad she got scorch marks, and that's the only reason I would've gone if they'd invited us. Anne, those people just aren't going to let us waltz in there. Not in our JC Penney school clothes. They're a different breed."

"They're penetrable," Anne said decisively. "Come on. We're going to be late."

Donna still had her feet planted.

"Look, if you hate it so much, you can quit, no questions. But I'm sticking with it. This is going to be the thing that changes everything for me," Anne said.

"Yeah, and it has nothing to do with the fact I saw Michael Fairchild's name on the sign up list too."

Donna started walking and Anne wished her hair was down so she could hide the blush she was sure had crept into her cheeks.

"It has nothing at all to do with it," Anne said, crossing her fingers behind her back. "Come on! We're going to be late."

She linked arms with Donna and they flew down the hall towards the English honours classroom.

XXXX

The final bell had rung and the building got loud and noisy. A half hour later, still sitting in the outer office, the hallways had quieted and everyone worth knowing had cleared out.

"Alright Timothy, come with me."

Casing locked up his office, and Tim got up and followed him. He hadn't asked what Casing had chosen for him - it didn't matter, since Tim was going to make a beeline for the exit as soon as Casing left.

"You are to check in with me when classes have ended, before you go to the meetings, which are on Mondays and Fridays for now, I suspect more often as things approach. You are also to check in with me when the meeting lets out."

Fuck. Depending on how long this torture went, he may have no choice but to sit at whatever this meeting was until his time was up. He'd look at it like serving a jail sentence. That was a damn good approach.

They walked through the hallways, the heels of Tim's boots echoing on the slick floor. Casing approached a classroom and opened the door.

Already, Tim didn't like it.

A big circular table was in the centre of the room, and the nine people sitting around it were not his type. He recognized a few people - Brenda Matheson was the school golden girl, a shoe-in for prom queen and Girl of the Year and whatever other queen she'd be crowned in her life. He thought the tall blond was her boyfriend, a football player.

The others he didn't know, but the pressed chinos, button down shirts, crew cut hair on the boys and lack of eye liner on the girls put these people way out of his stratosphere.

Tim resisted the urge to jam his hands in the pockets of his school jeans. He wished he had his leather jacket, but it was in his locker. He raised his chin a little and looked them all over.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mr. Casing said, standing in the doorway. "Mr. Shepard is going to be joining you."

"He's - what?" a girl spoke up. Tim had seen her in the halls - a bottle blonde, he'd bet good money on that. "Mr. Casing - "

"The matter is settled, Miss Weston," he said.

"But Mr. Casing," the girl started again. "I don't think this is going to work."

"Definitely not," a boy piped up. He had crew cut blond hair, and a sweater vest pulled over his button-down shirt.

"Miss Weston, Mr. Fairchild, have a seat."

Their indignation had given way to them physically getting out of their seats. Tim bit down on a grin. He may get out of this yet if these folks had anything to do with it.

The girl and boy both sat down, shooting each other worried looks.

"Mr. Shepard needs to have an extra-curricular activity, as every senior does, in order to graduate. I expect you'll all welcome him. He'll be checking in with me before and after meetings," Mr. Casing said. "I think we can all find a way for this to work. Don't you, Timothy?"

He clapped Tim on the back, and he resisted the urge to turn around and pop Casing in the face. That bastard had a sense of humour all right. He knew full well the Socs and greasers didn't get along and here he was sending Tim right into the well-dressed lion's den.

"Have a good afternoon," Casing said, shutting the door behind him.

Tim regarded the group coolly, walking towards the table slowly and deliberately. A girl with a honey blonde ponytail looked at him with eyes as big as saucers, her friend smirking a little, but not with disdain. From her scuffed up shoes and the hem coming loose on her skirt, Tim suspected maybe she got the joke on him.

"So," he said, enjoying the discomfort in the room. He pulled a chair over, turned it around and sat down. "What's the deal?"

The icy blonde looked over at him. There was a strange, challenging look in her eye.

"Welcome to the prom committee," she said with a smile.

* * *

**A/N: **So … how do you think Tim will take this development? lol.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.

**Author's Note: **For those of you who are fans of Glenn Withrow, his film The Mooring is available at Redbox today, so go check it out.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

_**Friday, March 12, 1965**_

Tim forced his face to remain blank, impassive. He hid the rage that was boiling just under the surface.

He was going to bury that bastard principal. He was going to dig a grave, run his fist into Casing's face a few hundred times and then bury him so deep no one would find him.

"What?" Tim asked, barely trusting himself to speak.

"Prom committee," the girl said again, a wicked smile on her cherry-red lips. "I guess he didn't tell you."

He should've known. Tension bloomed through his chest, the urge to walk down the hall to that office and set fire to everything in it so strong it took all his control to stay in the chair. Screw Casing and his mahogany desk and his leather books. The man was setting him up. Casing was probably laughing in his sleeve right now, thinking this was a big joke.

Tim shifted in the chair, trying to relax his muscles. He looked around at the group. There were six girls and three boys on the committee, and he didn't know any of them by sight but Brenda Matheson.

"Maybe we should all introduce ourselves," Brenda said, looking around the group, her gaze skipping over Tim like he wasn't there. "I'm Brenda Matheson, and I'm a senior."

Brenda had dark hair and eyes, a pretty smile and a killer body. She also came with a Ken-doll boyfriend who was eyeing Tim warily.

Brenda elbowed the girl to her left, with her hair in a beehive so high she could have scraped the ceiling if she wanted. "I'm Trudy Jacobs. Also a senior."

The two girls were sitting close together, and had whispered to each other when Casing had brought him in the room. Tim figured they were probably attached at the hip when Brenda wasn't making it with Angry Face Ken.

Another girl, a blonde, was staring down at her hands as she picked at a fleck of pink nail polish on her thumb. She had her hair in pigtails tied with polka dot ribbons, and she looked up only when Trudy nudged her. She glanced around quickly, her eyes alarmed and nervous.

"Introduce yourself," Brenda prompted.

"I'm Holly Ann," she said, her hands fluttering to the gold chain around her neck, then twisting the little signet ring on her pinky. "Holly Ann Harris. I'm a cheerleader. And a senior."

He looked at her for a moment, feeling a vague sense of recognition, but he couldn't figure out where he knew her from. There wasn't much chance he knew a cheerleader. He supposed it was from class - the school had a lot of kids, and he probably saw her in the halls or something. Still, it rankled him.

Ken Doll looked at Tim before he started to talk.

"I'm Ken Ellison. Running back on the football team, and a senior."

Tim hid another smile. Of _course_ his name was Ken. Tim figured he lead with his most important identifier, which was that of football star. Too bad the team sucked and they never won shit since the big Curtis had graduated.

"I'm Jeffrey Larson, I'm a junior," said a bespectacled guy with dark hair. He was nervously looking around the group. "I'm, uh, a junior. I said that already. Yeah, so ... hi."

He'd probably wet himself if Tim said something to him. Tim wouldn't have to worry about Jeffrey.

"I'm Michael Fairchild," the blond next to Jeffrey said. His hair was the colour of wheat, and he sat back in the chair easily, like he was completely aware he was going to be king shit one day. The kid was probably what most people would say would be the next wave of Rogers royalty after the seniors graduated. The way the guy was splayed out in his chair, he gave off the air that everyone should know who he was.

"You didn't say your class," the honey blonde across from Tim piped up. She was looking at Michael with a hopeful smile, but he barely glanced at her.

"Junior," he said easily.

"I'm Christine Weston," the icy blonde she-devil said. She was seated next to him, and he noticed she'd scooted her chair closer to Michael. "I'm a junior, a cheerleader, on the student council, I volunteer with the Red Cross, and I play in orchestra here at Will Rogers. Oh, I also run the French Club."

"I'd like to see that," Tim said, shooting her a wicked grin.

Her veneer faltered for just a moment, and she looked at Tim, her gaze uneasy.

"Cut it out," Fairchild said. "You, what's your name?"

He had nodded at the dark-haired girl next to the honey blonde.

"Donna Newbury, a junior, and not surprised you don't know that," the dark-haired girl said, glancing over at Fairchild.

Now, here was someone he might be able to speak the same language to.

Everyone was somewhat uncomfortable, and the honey blonde next to her spoke up.

"Donna, you're such a kidder," she said with a big smile, like she was about to sell you some carpet shampoo. "I'm Anne Macdonald, I'm a junior, and I'm in the Usher Corp. I can't wait to get started. I'm sure we all have some great ideas for prom!"

He caught the looks going around the table. The kind of looks a cute little kid gets when they say something funny at the dinner table. Anne's smile faltered for a second as she watched the looks fly around the table, then she regained her composure.

"You're the only one left," she said to Tim. "But I guess we all know your name already."

"Do y'all now?"

Anne looked around the table. "Well, yeah ... Mr. Casing didn't even have to say it, I heard - "

She winced, and Tim tried not to laugh when he saw good ol' Donna had elbowed her in the ribs.

"Tim Shepard."

"What class are you?" Anne asked. Something in her face told Tim she already knew.

"Senior."

"Surprised you made it this far," Ellison said.

Tim resisted the urge to make Football Ken Doll eat his letterman jacket. He picked a package of Kool filter kings out of his back pocket smacked the pack against his hand a few times to pack the cigarettes.

He unwrapped the package, aware that everyone was watching him. He picked up the foil end on the right side of the band and then tapped two cigarettes out. He tucked one behind his ear and the other between his lips. He fished around in his shirt pocket and found a loose match before tucking the pack away.

"Oh ... you can't smoke in here," Anne said. "I don't think anyway. I heard it could make the new sprinklers go off."

Tim held the match in his right hand and flicked his thumb nail across the head, watching it flare and light.

"That right?" He lit his cigarette, drawing deeply and letting it calm him.

Anne was looking around as if she expected the fire department to turn up with a garden hose and put him out. He took a drag and pushed the smoke out his mouth, inhaling it back in his nose. He waited a second before blowing a smoke ring back out. Anne was looking at him like he'd just pulled a rabbit out of a hat.

"Do that again!" she exclaimed. She winced for the second time, and Tim smothered a smile. Another elbow from Donna.

"Maybe we should focus on something about prom instead of unimpressive cigarette tricks," Brenda suggested. "How about a prom theme? Or we could organize ourselves into groups to tackle things like decorations, refreshments, music, things like that? I'll start."

Tim rolled his eyes.

"If the Reds ever drop a bomb on us, you'll be the one organizing the relief to help all the survivors, that right?" Tim asked.

"Leave her alone," Ellison said.

"Is it true you went to jail?"

The entire group looked over at Anne, who'd spoken up.

"What? Everyone's thinking it," she said.

Tim ashed his cigarette onto the floor before taking another drag. She was kind of a riot.

"Yep," he said. "Wanna know what I've been in for?"

"Knock it off," Fairchild said. "Brenda's right, we need to get to work."

"Yeah, why's that? So all you rich kids can have your nice party at the end of the year, pat yourselves on the back?" Tim asked. "You and I both know this shindig ain't for my kind, and you wouldn't want it to be, even if we wanted in."

"Well, that's just silly, anyone can buy tickets," Anne said.

She reminded him of Angel's baby doll, the one that had a string in the back you pull and she'd talk. She had the same round eyes and dumb cow expression on her face.

"Being able to buy tickets and being welcome ain't the same thing, doll."

She flushed pink, but whether it was from embarrassment or being called doll he didn't know.

"I think we can all agree we want this prom to have some standards," Ellison said. "Too bad if _your kind_ doesn't have any."

Tim took a long drag on his smoke, watching the ash creep its way toward the filter. He blew the smoke out, then put his cigarette out on Ellison's notepad, leaving a black smear across the cover.

"You kids have fun," he said. "I'm outta here."

He got up from the chair and wandered to the door and left, aiming to tell Casing the meeting let out early.

Now he had to find a way to get out of it permanently.

XXXX

Anne watched Tim Shepard go and let out a breath. She hadn't been trying to rile him up, but maybe riled up was his normal speed.

She looked around self consciously at everyone else.

"Well, maybe we should organize ourselves into sub-committees, like Brenda said," she suggested.

Even Donna was looking at her with a long face. "Let's give it up for today, okay, Anne?"

Everyone else nodded and murmured their agreement.

"I've gotta meet Dave out front, I forgot to tell him about the meeting. Better it ends early anyway. We'll meet again on Monday," Christine said, scooping up her school books and sashaying to the door.

Brenda and Ken were already making googly eyes at each other.

"Trudy, Holly Ann, you coming to The Way Out?" Brenda asked.

Holly Ann nodded, looking like she might cry. She'd been acting weird the whole time. Maybe she was scared of boys like Tim Shepard. He certainly was handsome, but the look in his eyes wasn't very nice.

Holly Ann got up, holding onto Trudy for support like her world was collapsing and followed Brenda out. Trudy and Holly Ann followed Brenda everywhere, like her faithful servants. Anne supposed that's kind of what they were. She wasn't sure she'd mind so much if that's what Christine wanted out of her. There was a good chance Christine would end up Homecoming Queen and Prom Queen next year. It was pretty common knowledge the Princess Court would be all the Queen's friends, and if she could find a way -

"Hey, wake up," Donna said. "Are you coming?"

The room had cleared out. Even Jeffrey had taken off, and he usually waited around for them.

Anne sighed. "I guess so."

They walked out together, Anne contemplating her next move. A lot depended on if Tim Shepard came back. Mr. Casing would be real mad if he didn't stick to it, but Tim Shepard looked like the kind of boy that didn't care about things like what Mr. Casing wanted.

"Would you be mad if I dropped it?" Donna asked as they headed out the side door.

"Prom committee? Are you sure?" Anne asked, disappointment welling up. "I mean, I know today was kind of a bust because of Tim Shepard - "

"If you ask me, he was the only interesting thing about it," Donna said. "He's right about the greasers not being welcome. The Winter Prom, you remember that? That big fight broke out in the parking lot."

"That's because kids were drinking," Anne said.

"No, it wasn't," Donna said. "Anne, you're my best friend, but sometimes you're clueless. Some Soc boys started hassling a few greasers who showed up, that's why there was a fight."

"I don't think it's as bad as that."

"I went with Joey Charles, and he's friends with some of those boys, boys that run with Two-Bit Mathews and guys like Tim Shepard. Joey got a black eye in the fight, he said the football players started it, and I believe him."

Anne was quiet for a moment, thinking about that. Well, from what she'd seen in the past, most of the greasers never showed up for things like prom or dances anyway. None of that really mattered – what mattered was doing a good job so Christine and Michael would take notice.

She was hoping she'd get on the refreshments or entertainment committee, or maybe even theme or something. She had a lot of ideas.

She giggled as she thought of something. "Can you imagine prom if Two-Bit Mathews had passed into junior year with us, and he was on the committee?"

"Well, that's a prom committee I'd stay on, just to see the outcome," Donna smiled. "As it is, Marjorie's gonna have her hands full. Rumour has it Two-Bit auditioned for a part in the musical."

"Are you kidding?" Anne asked. She giggled. "He'll probably drop it in a few days anyway. It doesn't seem like his thing."

"Speaking of, I don't think this is mine. I can't stand some of those people."

Anne felt her stomach flip over a little. She didn't like when Donna talked like this, because Anne was dead-set determined to get in with Christine and Michael and their friends. Senior year just had to be perfect, and if Donna wasn't with her, it wasn't going to be.

"I know what you're thinking," Donna said as they walked up the street toward the bus stop. "I know you wanna be friends with them, and that's okay. I mean, I'd come if they invited us to a party or something. I just don't think they will, no matter what you try and do."

"But I have to try," Anne said.

Donna sighed, then smiled at her. "I know you do. You're kind of pigheaded that way, same as I am about quitting the prom committee."

Anne smiled and linked arms with Donna. "At least you can. I don't think Tim Shepard is going to be that lucky."

XXXX

Casing hadn't seemed to know anything was up and that he'd skipped out on the meeting when Tim ducked into the office to tell him things had wrapped up early. Tim went out the back doors and found Bill in the parking lot, leaning against his Bel Air and having a smoke.

"Detention?" his best friend asked.

"Something like that," Tim agreed, opening the passenger door and getting in. His car had been impounded for the third time last week. Sure it was a shitty old thing, but he figured the cops were towing it just to piss him off. Unfortunately it was working. He needed to get the money together fast to get it out. Bill's car wasn't bad, but he didn't like getting rides everywhere, and Bill knew him well enough not to let him drive.

Bill started up the car and pulled out of the school parking lot. Tim caught a glimpse of two of the girls leaving through the side entrance and figured they'd all given up after he left. Served them right.

"What's got you so quiet? What'd Casing catch you doing? You steal some baby's pacifier?"

"I'm always quiet."

"Yeah, but not like this. What's up?"

Tim watched the scenery fly by. "Let's go to the Dingo."

Bill agreed, and Tim noticed he glanced over every so often. That was one problem with Bill. He was a crafty son of a bitch and noticed just about everything. He'd been like that ever since they'd met four years ago. It was a good quality to have in a lieutenant, but lousy when you didn't want to tip your hand.

Tim was quiet the entire way to the North side. There was an idea brewing in his mind, like the initial swirls of a storm that just might grow into a hurricane. It was something to consider, this little idea.

Bill cut the engine in the parking lot, and Tim hardly noticed. He tapped his hand on the window frame, deep in thought.

"Alright, what's going on?"

Tim glanced over at Bill again.

"I'm going to get a Coke," Tim said.

He got out of the car and shut the door with his hip, crossing across the gravel and dirt parking lot toward the entrance. The lot turned into a mud puddle whenever it rained, but today his harness boots kicked up plumes of dust as he walked.

The door squeaked when it opened, and Tim's head began to ache at the din inside. The place was crawling with kids, and you had to yell your order to be heard. He approached the register, and more than one person moved out of the way to let him cut the line.

"Hey Tim," a few people called out. He shook hands with half the North side before the counter girl finally handed him his Coke. He counted out a few cents and slid them across the counter.

"Tim, what'd Casing want?" Ray Roth asked, sitting in a booth with a couple of his other gang members, like Jimmy Lewis and Carl Hamilton. Roth and his cronies were still so concerned with class standing they wouldn't hang out with guys like Adam Barnes and Pete Malcolm since they were freshman and still at the middle school - at least not around anyone that went to Rogers. It bothered him, the way his boys acted like boys sometimes.

"Casing didn't want nothing," Tim said.

"Sure," Ray said, his dark eyes narrowing. "You're a real innocent."

"You got that, Roth."

Tim sidestepped a beehived blonde who slid into the booth next to Ray. She looked like a freshman herself but he assumed Roth's distaste of freshman didn't extend to those with nice racks.

Tim wandered back out to the parking lot. Kids were streaming in and out, hanging around cars, showing off and mock fighting. Bill was leaning against the hood of his car, smoking and watching him approach.

Bill said nothing as Tim drank his Coke. His silence was just about driving Tim around the bend.

"Casing was on my back about cutting classes," Tim finally said.

"Why does he care? Another greaser out of his hair."

"Got me." Tim chewed on the straw. "Said I wouldn't graduate if I didn't start attending."

Tim opened the passenger door and got in, tossing his paper cup out the open window. It was hot inside the car and it wasn't doing any good for his headache.

Bill slid into the driver's seat a few seconds later, but didn't start the engine.

"I know you care about that kinda shit, man," Bill said. "Don't mean nothing to me."

Bill didn't care - Bill wouldn't care about stupid, meaningless shit like graduation and diplomas. But it burned him that _he_ cared. He'd give anything to walk away from it, but he couldn't and he didn't know why.

"He told me if I didn't join up to something - sport, club - I wouldn't pass, even if my grades were alright."

"He can't do that."

Tim shrugged. "Seems to think he can. Anyhow, he's already called my folks."

"So you're gonna do it? Gonna join up?" Bill asked, looking over at Tim. "What on God's green earth are you gonna do?"

Bill had a weird look on his face, like he was trying to picture Tim joining the baseball team or ushering at school plays. The thought almost made him laugh too.

"Casing made the choice for me."

Bill nodded, probably realizing Tim's silence had everything to do with that.

"And?"

"Prom committee."

To his credit - and maybe because Bill really wanted to keep his balls - he didn't start laughing.

"Casing's a real piece of work."

"A room filled with Socs and wannabe Socs talking about ball gowns and tropical punch and prom photographers and who the hell's gonna play 'Teen Angel' all fucking night long. Jesus Christ," Tim sighed.

Bill did laugh at that. "What are you gonna do?"

"Don't know," Tim admitted. "See how it goes at home. Any luck, my mother'll be passed out so bad she won't remember the phone call. Hank's not home 'til dinner so he won't know about it. I gotta check in with Casing before and after. I think I can swing it that those dumb fucks will cover for me. They don't want me on that committee as much as they don't wanna catch the clap."

"Good deal," Bill said. "We could use you coming up with something. Boys are getting restless about money."

It was always about money. Ever since their little experiment with selling grass had collapsed in on them, Tim was at a loss. They weren't making much stealing hubs here and there, and his fence was getting pissed at the fact they couldn't deliver much else.

Most of his boys were adept at fighting, but not the most stealth when it came to theft. Roth and Hamilton had already been picked up twice for stealing hubs - two blocks from the police station downtown - and they seemed to think it was a big joke. Never mind the cops were eyeing them more closely because of it.

He needed money to get his car out of impound before they sold it off at auction.

"I'll think of something," Tim said.

Bill started the engine and took the highway underpass to the North side. It wasn't too far to his place and Tim groaned when he saw Hank's truck in the yard. Four-thirty. The fucker was home early and that wasn't good news.

"Pick me up tomorrow," Tim said. "Tell the boys to meet at the tracks near the alley in the morning. We need to get something started."

"Gotcha," Bill said.

Tim glanced at the house and didn't want to go inside and deal with Hank, his mother, his sister, his brother. It would've been nice to be free of it all, alone somewhere, not having to worry about all the shit under that roof.

"Later."

Tim slammed the door of Bill's car and headed through the tall grass to the front stairs, hoping to God he wasn't going to have to duck a punch over dinner.

* * *

**A/N:** So Tim's told one person and didn't even have to beat him up afterwards. Not sure it'll go that smoothly with everyone else.

Lots of lines paraphrased from the book/movie in this chapter. I can't help myself.

If you're interested in seeing how Two-Bit does in a school musical, well, you have a treat in store soon, courtesy of Artemis Rex ...


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.

**Author's Note: **I love writing Tim's home life, so here, have some lol.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

_**Friday, March 12, 1965**_

Hank Coleman was sitting in his stupid recliner watching the small black and white television when Tim walked in. His stepfather usually got off of work at the Cosden refinery early enough, then he headed straight to a downtown bar to drink. He'd come home half soused and park his ass on that chair, a beer or a bourbon in his hand.

Tim learned early on that it'd be a quiet night if it was beer; not so much if it was bourbon.

He wondered if his mother had realized she was marrying a drunk. A chance meeting in a bar one weeknight, and their lives all go straight to hell. It hadn't been that long after his father had left, either. His mother had picked up temp work to cover the rent, and as she told it, went in for a drink after work. He wondered if going into that bar was on purpose to pick someone up. His mother wasn't much of a drinker then.

A few short months later, Hank was installed in that chair, and the rent was paid up.

Tim stared at his stepfather for a moment as he tossed his jacket onto a chair. Hank had a beer between his legs and glared at him when the jacket hit the couch and slid onto the floor. Tim made no move to pick it up.

"Your mother told me something interesting today," Hank said.

Tim resisted the urge to ask if his mother finally told him to fuck off and die. Six years later he didn't think that moment was going to come now.

Hank wasn't a large man, but he was compact, not a single muscle wasted. He spent his younger years as a roughneck in the oil fields, and was a pipe fitter at the refinery now. Tim knew it bothered Hank that Tim was about an inch taller than him now, and he supposed the bulk the man was putting on was to make up for it. His greying hair, the colour of dust, was slicked back, and the slash of dark brows stood out on his face, making his pale eyes look like they could cut glass. His square jaw was always set like he was hearing bullshit, and the stubble Hank kept made Tim reach for his razor more often than he'd like.

His mother came out of the tiny kitchen, a soup spoon in her hand and an honest-to-God apron on. Her chestnut hair was done and her eyes didn't hold that glassy sheen they so often did.

Well, he was fucked.

"Your principal called me today," she started.

Tim saw movement out of the corner of his eye and saw black curls duck behind the wall in the hallway. He was going to clobber those two later.

"Yeah?" Tim asked.

"Timothy, he said you haven't gone to half your classes since Christmas," his mother said, her voice breaking like she was telling Tim she knew he had cancer or he got a letter from the draft board.

"I'm passing."

"Well, Mr. Casing said it's not enough. The truant officer was by this afternoon," his mother said. "He was adamant you attend, or it's a boys' home. He said we weren't doing enough for you."

Enough? They didn't do jack shit. He scrounged money for the things he needed. His leather jacket came straight out of the back of a delivery truck unloading them behind Harrington's. His smokes were swiped from the gasoline station more times than not. He rolled folks to get change for food, for drinks. His car was won in a poker game, the gas was paid for by a lot of fucking hard work in the middle of the night, worrying over lug nuts and waiting for the lights of a cop cruiser to peg him in the dark, waiting for the bullets to whiz past his head.

Meanwhile Hank was behind two months on their rent, was probably fucking the whore down at the bar he drowned himself in after four each day, and his mother was playing off her work at the church as some great spiritual sacrifice when he knew the pastor couldn't keep it in his pants. Their spare change went to beer, bourbon, cigarettes and more fucking pills for the pain his mother complained about so much. Her damn back hadn't bothered her in years.

That was why Curly wore his ripped up hand-me-downs, why Angela kept her hair long even though the style was to keep it short. It wasn't as if he didn't know his little sister had swift fingers herself, nicking jewellery and lipsticks from the drugstore so she could look a little less like the trash they were.

He wanted to pick up the ugly old Hummels his grandmother had left them and chuck one at his mother's stupid head.

"What'd Casing say when he called?" Tim managed to ask, letting the anger wash over him.

"He said you won't pass if you don't go, and you have to start going," his mother said, approaching him and putting her hands on his face. Close up he could smell the bourbon on her breath. She'd just gotten a late start was all.

He looked in her pale green eyes, starting to swim with tears. She wasn't always like this, and he had to remember that. His father did this to her, his father left that crater inside her heart, one that she could only fill up with booze and pills to function. A crater so big she thought Hank was going to fix it all, and all he did was smack her around when he thought no one was looking.

He had to remember that. She was a broken thing, and he didn't break her. His father did, Hank did. That gnawing feeling in his stomach made him wonder if he had. He could've kept his mouth shut as a kid. He could've let it all keep going, his mother in the dark about his father's activities.

He shut mental doors on it. He wasn't walking down memory lane.

"I told Casing I'd go," he told her. "So he'll lay off."

"I know you will," his mother said, kissing him on the forehead. "You're a good boy when you want to be, Timothy."

"That wasn't all that principal of yours said." Hank stood up and walked into the kitchen doorway.

Tim opened the ice box and grabbed a bottle of milk, taking a swig. His mother clucked her tongue and swatted him. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"That right?"

"He said you have to have an extra-curricular activity, and if you don't go, you don't pass."

"He's full of shit," Tim said.

"Don't get mouthy," Hank said. "Your mother talked to the man, and that's what he said, wasn't it Lil?"

His mother nodded. "That's right. Timothy, you can do that, can't you? Join a club or something? It's only for a few months."

"Damn straight he's gonna do it," Hank said. "I ain't having you lazing around the house, a stupid high school drop out with no job. I managed to get through high school just fine, so I don't see any reason you can't. Only thing you take pride in is that police record."

"Mad it's longer than yours?" Tim said.

Hank wasn't completely soused. He'd argue, but that's about it. Since he was fifteen and shot up past Hank's height, the man didn't really mess with him physically. No, he'd just turn that hand elsewhere.

"Don't give me any lip," Hank said. "I don't wanna hear from that truant officer again. The man had the nerve to say it was me and your mother not doing right by you, like somehow we can control this mean streak of yours. I know where it came from, bred in you like it was. I'm not seeing that man around here again. They come in here to haul you off to a boys' home until you turn eighteen, and I won't be stopping them. It'll be your own damn fault if that happens. You may be able to do time in the jail here for a night or two, but that'd smarten you up real quick."

"Hank don't talk like that," his mother pleaded. "You know when they sent Timothy off to that reformatory when he was thirteen it just ruined him, ruined him."

His mother's eyes started to pool again, the tears escaping this time.

"It was for his own damn good, Lil."

"He hadn't gotten in a lot of trouble," she said.

"He'd broken the front windows of eight stores downtown, set fire to two dumpsters and egged a police car! He's lucky I didn't ship him off to a boys' home then. No, I stood up for the little shit and got the DA to agree to the reformatory. That juvenile judge said it was the best thing."

"But it ruined him," his mother said.

"Didn't do nothing of the sort," Tim said, thinking back on that time with an uneasy mind. He met Bill there. Some good came of it. The rest of it he locked away.

"No, you're gonna stay in that school. I hear you've cut a class, or skipped out on this extra-curricular or done even one damn thing the principal doesn't like, you're out on your ass," Hank said. "That's a promise."

Tim looked over at Hank.

"Oh yeah, got your attention, did I?" Hank said, taking a swing of his beer. "I mean it. You flunk out or get suspended, you're out of here. Your shit'll be on the front lawn before you make it home from school. You can find yourself a place to live that ain't here. I'm not having you sit on your fucking ass all day and break the law."

"Hank, that's not fair," his mother almost whined.

"Shut it, Lil. You've had your say already. You favour the boy something awful, it's no wonder he's got a record longer than my arm. If you'd shown him some discipline, he wouldn't be like this."

"Discipline! I know all about your ideas in that regard, don't you forget!" His mother's voice was harsh.

Tim's gaze flicked over to his mother, surprised she even remembered. It burned him up that she did remember. Somehow, it would be better if those memories were locked in some drunken haze. Easier for her, easier for him.

Hank argued back, raising his voice, and Tim tried to slip out into the hallway.

"Hey!" Hank roared. "I mean it about that school. You stay in or you're out. I'm not supporting some fuck up who can't even pass English. We'll talk about what happens after you graduate. I'm not paying for your ass to loaf around here all the time."

Tim nodded, went down the hall and opened the door to the room he shared with Curly. His mother and Hank were still yelling. Soon, a glass would shatter, a plate would hit a wall. It wouldn't get bad if they got all the fight out of them now, while they were both pretty sober. There was only that small window where Hank was drunk enough to get punchy that Tim had to worry about. Before that, he'd rely on words. After that, he'd be too drunk to make a fist.

Tonight would be okay, the fire out before it started.

XXXX

Curly was lying on one of the two beds in the room. They were old iron bed frames, both twin beds, each head of the bed pushed against the wall, a small nightstand between them. There was a single railback chair and one wooden dresser. The curtains were white once, but were yellowed from the morning sun that shone straight in through the window.

Curly lived like a pig, and the closet was his domain. Tim rarely opened the thing, since everything Curly owned would come pouring out like clowns out of a circus car. He kept a few things in his drawers and that was that. He stashed a few things at Bill's place, just in case he couldn't show up at home. The room had no pin-ups on the wall, just bare white paint, which drove Curly around the bend. Tim needed it quiet and he needed it blank in order to think. Walls blank, mind blank. Sometimes it was the only way to cut the noise out of his head.

"What's up their asses? Principal called," Curly said.

"I know."

Tim took off his jacket and kicked off his boots. He laid down on the other bed, stretching his arms behind his head. Somehow, it seemed more homey without all the posters and shit they put up on the wall inside the cooler. A calendar, a pin up girl ... decorating the walls meant you were going to stay awhile, and he didn't want to stay awhile. Clean walls meant freedom.

The door creaked open, and Angel peeked her head in. Tim heard a plate smash right on the other side of the wall near his head and cringed.

"Now you've done it," Angela said, slipping inside the room and shutting the door. "What's all the fighting about this time?"

She crossed her arms in front of her, and Tim realize Angela was wearing an awful low cut blouse. She was thirteen, and it startled him to look at her - she had a bust, and for a split second he saw her as a boy on the street might and it made him nervous.

"Go put something on. You walk around school in shit like that? It's a wonder your principal doesn't call."

"So what's up?" Curly asked.

"Gotta quit cutting class, truant officer was around. You two mind me when I say you ain't cutting out."

"Why's it okay for you to cut out and not me?" Angela said, cocking her head to the side as if to challenge him.

"Because you're thirteen and got rocks in your head. I mean it, Angel, go put a sweater on or something."

"It's too hot."

"What do you gotta do, go to class?" Curly asked. "Detention? Boy, I'm not looking forward to high school, seems like all you do is detention."

"I gotta start going to class," Tim said. "I mean it. I don't want you guys cutting. You can't afford it."

"That your way of saying we're too stupid to cut class?" Curly asked, an amused smile on his face.

Tim leaned back against his thin pillow. "I wouldn't cut if I didn't make the grades."

"I get C's because I'm stupid," Curly said yawning. "So what do you get 'em for? Your grades are in the toilet even when you do go, an' I know you ain't stupid."

"I got a B in English," Angela said. "And you better not fail a grade Curly, I don't want you hanging around me in school. There's no way I want you ending up in my grade."

"Well?" Curly asked him, ignoring Angela. "Why ain't your grades better?"

"Angel, go put something on," Tim said. Angela flipped him the bird, then walked out and slammed the door, rattling the window. He heard Hank bellow at her not to slam things, and Angel slammed her own bedroom door in return.

"She's gonna be real trouble," Tim sighed.

"Already is if you ask me." Curly lit a cigarette. "You didn't answer me."

Tim shrugged. "You know as well as I do book smarts only serve to get your ass kicked among our crowd."

Curly seemed to think on it a minute. "Bill wouldn't."

"Nah. Bill's smart himself."

"You gonna go to class and stuff?"

Tim nodded. "Hank's gonna toss me out if I don't. And I can't afford to be outta here when he's here, you dig?"

Another plate smashed somewhere in the kitchen. At this rate they'd need new dishes before Easter.

"Yeah," Curly sighed. "I dig. You ain't here to referee and suddenly the fight ain't fair no more."

Tim closed his eyes for a few moments. No, the fight wouldn't be fair if he wasn't here. His mother would "fall down" and hurt her wrist or "walk into a door" and get a black eye again. Angela would move that chair back under her door, and Curly would take the brunt of it trying to step in front of their mother.

With him there, the only thing that flew were dishes and the occasional Hummel, not fists. He had to keep it that way.

And that meant joining the prom committee.

* * *

**A/N:** Seems like Tim has decided there's no good way out of this. Do you think he'll play with the rich kids like a good boy? lol


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.

**Author's Note: **Glenn Withrow (Tim Shepard) has a film he wrote/directed/produced that's just been released today - _**The Mooring**_. Find it on iTunes, Netflix, Redbox, Amazon, Walmart, and all over the USA and Canada. Make sure to check out the special features for some interviews and footage of Glenn on set.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

_**Saturday, March 13, 1965**_

Bill picked him up Saturday morning, and they cruised through the downtown territory. Tim had his eye on a place - somewhere the boys could meet and layover, away from home and away from the cops. There were a lot of old abandoned buildings around, but the trick was making sure the cops wouldn't shake them down and kick them out. He hadn't found a way around it yet, but it was on his mind.

A lot was on his mind - too much. He had no idea how he was going to swing this prom committee bullshit. He supposed he could strike a deal with the group - he'll keep his mouth shut and keep out of it if they tell Casing he contributed. Everyone would get what they wanted.

There was a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that it would be playing right into Casing's hand. He was sure the man had done this to humiliate him - why else pick the prom committee? With all the tension between the rich kids and his kind, throwing him in there with them was a sure fire way to ramp up that tension.

Casing was setting him up, that was plain as day. If he skipped out on the committee, he'd fail and not graduate. Casing knew as well as he did Tim wouldn't be coming back if that happened. He wasn't a glutton for punishment like Mathews, who flunked out and stayed back a year. If he flunked out, that was the end of that. Casing wins.

If he did stay with the committee, then Casing won again. Tim would be forced to sit in a room with the Socs, doing something that made his skin crawl. Even if he didn't do a lick of planning, that was still going to be torture.

He hated being set up.

He didn't really give a shit if the rich kids were laughing in their sleeve about him being forced to join the prom committee, mostly because he knew he could wipe the smiles off their faces with his fists. Those Socs were the type to talk behind your back and never to your face. No, they'd run like the cowards they were if they had to do anything face-to-face.

He was a bit more concerned about what the greasers would think, but he could spin it and make himself the victim of a hacked off principal. Hell, he _was_ the victim.

Bill was quiet the whole ride to the railway tracks. There were all kinds of lines that weaved in and out of Tulsa, but he liked being close to the downtown, where the tracks and alleyways were so close it made for easy escape.

Bill cut the engine about a block away from the tracks, parking near a falling-down abandoned building.

"What are you gonna tell the boys?" Bill asked. "I guess I don't have to tell you some of them are gonna look at this sideways."

"I've been thinking about that," Tim admitted. "I think I got something."

Bill looked over at him.

"I gotta do this shit to keep things on the level at home with Hank and to get outta that school legit."

Tim took a minute to pull out a cigarette and light it. Bill wasn't big on people smoking in the car - it had white interior, and Bill was paranoid the smoke would stain it - but he said nothing as Tim lit his cigarette.

"You know I get it, right?" Bill said quietly. "You don't gotta tell anyone but me, I know it means something to you to graduate. I ain't judging. Sometimes I wish I'd have gotten a diploma myself. No matter what folks say, they think you're a stupid fuck up without it. I may prove otherwise on occasion, but I'll admit it rankles some."

Tim nodded. He couldn't trust himself to reply. He hated that it mattered. But it did.

"Casing ain't gonna get away with this," Tim said. "He could've assigned me to something like the fucking yearbook or managing the softball team. Hell, he could've had me picking up trash after fucking school, something to keep me out of sight and mind. But he didn't. He chose the prom committee, and that was on purpose."

"Can't argue that."

"He thinks it's a big joke," Tim said, getting angrier the more he thought about. "Humiliate me a bit, make me feel like he's in charge. I honestly think he's aiming to see me bail on it and fail out. He knows I won't come back. What he doesn't realize is he just set up a big score for us."

Bill looked over at him, his brow crinkled. "How?"

"Lots of opportunities to use that prom to our benefit. If I participate, he can't fail me, since I'll be stuck on that committee like he wants. I'll pass all the classes. He's got no control over what actually happens at the fucking prom."

Bill's grin was slow and wicked. "I think I'm beginning to see the picture."

"I don't know what yet, but it's the chance to make Casing regret he ever laid eyes on me," Tim said. "I think the longer I'm watching these rich kids plan, the clearer it'll come to me. First thought was the parking lot."

Bill's eyes flickered. "Lots of cars. You thinking about starting up again?"

Their weak attempt at stealing car parts hadn't netted much money, but Tim began thinking of the possibilities. Lots of cars - rich kids' cars - at prom, just lined up ready to be picked over. Carburetors, radios, hub caps, rims, tires ... there were a lot of possibilities. But they've have to be fast, and Tim would need to find a way to keep kids inside the school gymnasium and out of the parking lot to sneak a beer or five.

"I think we could make some good money ripping off those cars," Tim said.

"Good," Bill told him. "I was afraid you wanted to look into dealing grass again."

Bill laughed at his own joke.

Tim sighed, thinking about that failed experiment. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. At the beginning of September he did a strong-arm job out of town and was paid in grass.

It was supposed to be easy money - divide up the spoils, get the boys to deal it. He remembered sitting in his car in the alley with Bill, rolling up a joint and testing out the product himself. He'd never smoked the shit before, and after that, never again.

He smoked the first joint quickly, not feeling much of anything until a few minutes later. They sat in his car, and had a laugh about a few things that had gone down that weekend. Bill was telling a story, and his voice sounded pretty far away. He realized it had hit him at that moment, and it was pretty good.

Bill kept talking, and he rolled another one, figuring he should at least smoke it and make a judgement about whether it was worth selling. He didn't want to get a rep for selling weak shit. He smoked the second one down pretty fucking fast too.

A few minutes later he was convinced the cops were coming. Every time he turned his head he could hear sirens. Bill, laughing at Tim's paranoia, kept telling him the sounds were in his head. But he knew the truth. He knew Bill was lying too.

He stared at his friend, watching his lips move, but no words came out. Even so, Tim felt like he understood everything that was going on. Bill was out to get him too. He wanted the cops to find them. The fuzz would show and pick him up and give Bill a big old reward for getting Tim Shepard caught with dope.

He got out of the car, running his hands through his hair.

"They aren't gonna get me. You're crazy if you think they're gonna get me."

Bill had shrugged it off, until Tim had pulled out his knife. Bill was mellow, his grin easy and free, and Tim knew what that meant - he was in on it. Tim knew the cops were there - just knew it. He looked around the alley, hollered at them to come out. He could see them out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned, they were gone. They were going to pick him off when he wasn't looking, empty their guns into his head and leave him pulped up on the sidewalk.

Tim had a good grip on his blade, ready in case they came out of the shadows to get him.

"You stay there, don't you move," he told Bill. "I know they got you."

Bill was telling him to calm down, telling him he just smoked it all too fast, maybe it was laced with something, maybe he should've had something to eat. Tim's mouth was dry, his head felt like it was on fire, and when Bill came towards him, he slashed out with the knife, catching his buddy's jacket and ripping it to hell.

His best friend had tackled him to the ground, socked him in the face and broken his nose.

He lay on the pavement, Bill holding his head down onto the ground. He smelled fetid water and knew the cops were coming. The fuzz would put the shackles on him and they'd laugh, they'd all laugh, they stick him in a jail cell and laugh, all of them boys coming by just to see what a fool Tim Shepard was.

His heart pounded so loud he could hear it in his ears, and he fought Bill at every turn, trying to get away from him – he was in on it. His head was on fire and all he wanted was to escape.

"It's the only way," he begged. "It's the only way I can get away from them, the only way they won't be laughin'."

Bill talked in low tones, his arm pressing Tim's face down into the pavement, blood from his nose mixing with water and oil, flowing toward that fetid puddle. He was going to die here, his lungs were already starting to freeze up, and soon they wouldn't move and he'd be dead.

"I know you're in on it," Tim had wailed. "Fuck you and the damn reward you think you'll get. I know you're in on it."

Bill had insisted and begged and pleaded for Tim to believe he wasn't in on anything. The panic had bubbled up in his chest, the surety that Bill was lying. He was holding him down so the cops could kill him, and he wasn't going to give them the chance.

The train whistle had blown then, and it set him off. He fought Bill as hard as he could. Bill practically sat on him for an hour until Tim calmed down enough to be loaded back into his car. Bill drove him around dark side streets and back alleys, the radio tuned to a classical music station that faded in and out whenever they reached the North side of town.

The longer Bill drove, the better it got, and when the paranoia had worn off, Tim was an exhausted wreck.

"I ain't never doing that shit again," he said.

Bill had actually grinned at him. "You're too high strung. I would've thought it would mellow you out, but maybe you just ain't wired that way."

Tim made Bill swear never to tell how paranoid he'd gotten. He was sure it was all laced with something, maybe some of that shit they were peddling in California. His mind, every so often, turned to Bill, wondering if _he_ had laced it with something. That smidge of distrust still hadn't gone away.

Tim got nervous about his boys putting some bad shit out there after that and called them all to meet.

He expected to get some cash, but what he found was a lot of quiet, withdrawn faces. Threats of a couple beatings later, most of the boys admitted to smoking what they were supposed to sell. None of them had any experiences like Tim, but Roth had passed out at Buck's after he ran up a tab that took him three months to pay off, Hamilton and Malcolm got picked up breaking into a fast food restaurant and spent three months in a reformatory for it, and Jimmy Lewis had gotten drunk and high with a bunch of junior high girls and spent three months thinking he got one of them pregnant only to find out he'd fallen asleep before he could get his dick out of his pants.

It was pretty clear to Tim his gang was fucking stupid when it came to drugs. He could never trust himself to be around it. Even the smell of the grass he had left in a tiny bundle made him feel sick to his stomach. There was no way in hell he was ever going to be out of control of himself like that again, no matter what. He pitched the rest of it in the Arkansas river.

He couldn't trust these boys as far as he could throw them. He took their cuts of the money they made stealing hubs at the county fair and kept every damn cent as punishment.

Months later Tim looked up marijuana in the public library and found out some people got extreme paranoia from it. Well, he was one of them. No more.

A train whistle blew in the distance and brought him back to reality. He sighed and looked around the interior of Bill's car. At least he wouldn't have to deal with grass again. This prom committee couldn't be any worse than that.

He smoked his cigarette down slowly, then he and Bill got out and headed down the hill to the tracks. Some of the major streets of the downtown passed right overhead on overpasses above the tracks, and the rhythmic sound of tires on the road echoed around them.

Last summer they'd spent more of their time meeting at the old vacant lot near Crutchfield, but that was in Curtis territory now. They were no more a gang than his mother's church was, but Tim didn't mind giving them over a few square blocks in the middle of his territory, seeing as they could be decent allies when needed.

The only time they'd rumbled, back in August, was when there was some beef between them about Soda Curtis and Steve Randle stealing the hubs off a car in what they'd kept calling their territory. Dallas had thrown out a few choice words, and even Darry Curtis had come out to rumble them over the area. They were aiming to kick the shit out of those little punks, but the big Curtis surprised him. He looked like a brick house and hit like one too.

Tim had pulled his boys out of there quick. There was no point getting bashed up over some hubs and a few blocks of land when it was your supposed allies doing the bashing. Better to keep your ribs intact and worry over the Tiber Street Tigers or the Brumly Boys or the River Kings. The Curtis boys wouldn't be aiming to overtake his gang one bit, they just wanted a section of their neighbourhood, and Tim felt he could give that to them if they backed each other up.

He preferred to do business in the alleys and near the tracks of the downtown anyway.

Adam Barnes was leaning up against a concrete post having a smoke when they arrived. Adam was a freshman who was already well past six feet tall and looked like a senior. He was husky, blond and intimidating, even though his good nature belied all that. He was the youngest in the gang next to Curly, who'd be fourteen in about a month.

He shook hands with Adam who followed him and Bill onto the tracks and into the darkness.

Pete Malcolm was sitting on the front end of a car shell that had been rotting down here for as long as any of them could remember. Pete was the same age as Adam. He was thin, pale and had sandy blond hair and green eyes, a catch for the girls if he could ever stop looking so nervous. Hands jammed in his jeans, he always looked like he expected the fuzz to be just around the corner. Pete's old man ran a gun shop downtown, and that was the one and only reason he'd recruited Pete. That and he ran with Hamilton and Roth, who dragged him along to just about everything they did. He wouldn't be shocked if Malcolm held their dicks while they pissed.

Jimmy Lewis was the real ladies man in the group. A lean sophomore with dark hair and green eyes, he had an easy smile for the girls and a good right hook. His old man ran a bar downtown, and when his old man was in a good mood, he'd let them in to play a little snooker. They had a gym in the back room - Lewis's old man was a boxer in his heyday - and Tim liked the idea of his guys being trained by a professional fighter. Lewis's old man probably knew exactly what his skills were going to, but so far he hadn't said a word about it. Better Jimmy be on the winning end of a downtown rumble was good thinking.

He was playing cards with Curly again – that never ended well – and he nodded his head at Tim as he walked by, then folded up his cards and followed.

Roth and Hamilton were shadow boxing and horsing around, and it took them a minute to shut it down, even after they spotted Tim. It was shit like that Tim hated about Roth. He was sixteen and a pain in the ass already.

He fought like a wild animal, wasn't above below-the-belt moves when he was in a fight. Tim didn't like him much - he had an oily personality, was a mouthy son-of-a-bitch, and Tim knew he likely questioned him and mouthed off behind his back. Roth was the kind of guy that would've poisoned the king's wine in the olden days, then taken over his territory when he croaked. Forewarned was forearmed though, and it'd be a cold day in hell before the brooding kid would get him in the back.

Carl Hamilton was Ray's partner in crime, a junior with an average build, sandy hair and hazel eyes. He wasn't much to look at, usually kept his mouth shut, but he was into some weird shit. The kid got off on it when there was a rumble - not that there was anything wrong about that, plenty of guys had fighting in their blood - but Carl was a little different. Tim wondered more than once if he'd suffered a blow to the head as a kid. He was just weird. Carl was loyal though, but to who was the big question. He saw how Roth worked him onto his side ... but Carl didn't look like the easily manipulated type. He figured Carl was Ray's Bill, and that wasn't a good thing. The only reason Tim hadn't shut their close friendship down was that Carl and Ray were still too stupid to do anything about it.

There were a few guys that Tim wouldn't call official members, but hung around on the outskirts of things, maybe hoping Tim would bring them in to the inner circle. He supposed that one day he'd have to make the call one way or the other. There was something to be said for numbers, but there was also something to be said for keeping the numbers controllable.

Shorty Andrews would have been a junior if he hadn't dropped out. He managed to hold a steady job at the rail yards. He was an alright kid - six foot four if he was an inch - and kept his mouth shut pretty good. Tim still couldn't figure what he wanted or needed out of a gang. His folks were still together, he had a decent job, he seemed to be as close to middle class as you could get while being dirt poor.

Eddie Demarco was a senior, who thought of himself as a ladies man - Tim didn't really see any evidence to back that up. He reminded Tim of a weasel - dark beady eyes, little ears, and able to lie his ass off about just about anything. He wore a newsboy cap pulled down over his brow, and Tim had to fight the urge to knock it off his head every time he was around him.

Shorty wasn't there that day – work – but Eddie was skulking around, making Tim nervous. He supposed a decision on him was coming pretty soon. The weasel made him nervous, and nervous wasn't good.

There were a few others he could call on if he really needed numbers for a rumble. Adam's older brother Dale - the polar opposite of Adam, he was tall, lanky, with a wispy moustache and a penchant for staying out of fights. He'd never make it in the gang as a regular member, and maybe he knew it, because he hung around but didn't make himself a nuisance. But he was a number if they needed it in a rumble.

Reggie Wilson was the same way. He hung around Buck's once in a blue moon and wasn't attached to any gang. But he was the type that could back a gang up if they needed it, and luckily he hated the Tiber Street Tigers and Brumly boys more than he hated anyone else, unless it was the River Kings. He'd pissed off the Packers and had it out for the leader of the Devilhawks. He seemed to have a beef with somebody in just about every group, and Tim wondered who the lucky guy would end up being in his gang.

The boys all moved forward to shake hands with him and Bill, then settled around, sitting on concrete barriers scattered around the area. A train horn blew, and a moment later a freighter moved by, chugging along the tracks and headed east. Tim watched the train for a moment, remembering that panicked feeling of wanting to jump out in front of it and tried not to shudder.

"What's going on?" Roth asked. "You got a job for us?"

"Maybe," Tim said. "First, I wanna know why the cops shook Buck's down last night. Heard from Dally they showed up and raided the place."

Buck Merril ran a roadhouse, if you could call it that, out of the house he bought. It was a three storey white square building with a basement, and Tim suspected it was a cheap apartment building once upon a time - no one could quite remember its providence. Merril had fixed it up some, turned the third floor into an apartment for himself, and was in the process of building a bar in the downstairs. He threw enough parties to need it. There were always some rough folks hanging around Merril on account of all the bootlegging, horse racing and other shit he was into. Merril was a bit of a coward, easily shaped by the people around him. For that reason, he was on Tim's radar.

He'd let Tim or his boys rent out a room on the second floor on occasion, when someone was hacked off at his parents or needed to lay over because of the fuzz. During parties those bedrooms had other uses.

He'd run into Dally at the Citgo station that morning, and luckily Buck hadn't been throwing one of his shindigs that night or they all might have been pinched.

"Don't know what happened," Jimmy said. "None of us was around there, since he wasn't having a party. Heard about it from a few refinery boys that came into my pop's place that night. Merril got out the next morning."

"They hauled him in?"

Lewis nodded and Tim took a moment to picture that. Buck probably pissed himself good after that. He didn't look like the type that could handle a night in lockup.

"I heard it was the River Kings," Ray said. "There's a place down on 11th they use as their headquarters, and I heard it didn't get touched, but they raided Buck's, and that pool hall down in Packers territory. Tell me that ain't suspicious."

"Merril doesn't keep his booze at the house anyway," Barnes said. "Smart move."

"Keep your ears open," Tim said. "Let me know if you hear what went down; it don't feel right to me. Buck's is in our territory, and I don't want the cops thinking they can bust in whenever some hood drops a dime and calls him out for nothing."

"And if you can keep the other gangs from doing it, maybe Buck lets us drink cheaper," Bill said with a grin, causing a chorus of hollering from the boys.

Tim allowed himself a small smile. "Maybe so."

"So what're we up to?" Pete asked nervously. "I mean, what's next for us? Tim, your car's still in impound."

He nodded. "Got an idea. Has to do with the high school."

"We bust that place up good, and I'm set for the rest of the year," Hamilton said.

Tim had to tread carefully with this.

"Casing got it into his head that I need to be taught a lesson," Tim said, walking up and down in front of the boys, feeling like a general doing an inspection of his troops. "Casing's got a few screws loose when it comes to greasers like us."

He looked everyone over, wishing he'd told Curly the whole situation the day before so he could back him up with the younger guys. He didn't like the idea of Demarco hanging around, but it might be better if people like him heard it from Tim first.

"In order to pass, I gotta attend all the classes, all that bullshit. But he's also holding the participation shit over my head."

"What, the stuff for seniors?" Demarco asked. "Tim, that's bullshit, I ain't joined a single damn thing all year, and they're still passing me. Casing ain't done shit to me about it."

"I know it," Tim said. "Maybe he's not on your case because you go to classes more than I do. Ain't my fault I got picked up for busting up Bobby Green back in January. He tried to take over our turf, I showed him what was what. Casing don't see jail time that way."

He heard the murmurs of anger from some of the boys. Just tell them where the threat was and maybe the humiliation was going to be minimal.

"Either way, he's making me join up something so's I can graduate."

"What does it matter anyway?" Hamilton crabbed. "So you drop out, doesn't matter to us none."

"I see any of you dropping out?" Tim asked.

They hadn't, either, aside from Bill. Each one of his boys still went to school, probably upon threat of their parents rather than Casing. Catching the attention of the truant officer meant a boys' home and that meant no gang. Most of them didn't want to lose that.

They all eyed one another, but no one said anything.

"Even though I dropped out, I wouldn't recommend it," Bill said, backing Tim up. "Cops'll give you a bad time for life about it, and as much as I don't give a shit what they say, it's like hearing the same song on the radio ten times over."

"Tim's smarter than all them rich kids anyway, we all know it," Curly piped up. "Casing's just trying to make him look bad to everyone, and that's a pile of shit."

Tim tried not to smile. Sometimes Curly surprised him. The boys were murmuring in agreement.

"Casing decided to pull a fast one, said he was choosing what I had to join. He chose the prom committee."

Tim dropped the bomb with little fan fare.

"Are you shitting me?" Curly asked. "What a fucking scumbag."

Curly's outburst got the rest of them going, since none of the boys wanted to be outshined by a thirteen-year-old.

"That's crazy," Malcolm said.

"I bet it's all filled with Socs, right?" Ray nodded. "Sure as shit it is. What a fucker."

"What's he think that'll accomplish?" Lewis asked, an easy grin on his face. "Only a better time for us if we go. Hey, there any cute girls on that committee?"

"Ya'll ain't going," Tim said, ignoring Jimmy's question. He couldn't keep his mouth shut about women. "I know that breaks your heart Jimmy, you always wanting to shark the ladies at these things - "

There was a chorus of laughter.

"- but I got plans for all of you."

The silence was almost deafening, only the sounds of tires on the overpass above echoing in the dark around them.

"We're gonna steal Casing's car?" Ray asked, his eyes shining.

"You need me to take the Prom Queen off your hands? Because I'll take one for the team if I have to, gentlemen," Jimmy said.

"Spike the drinks?" Malcolm said. "Imagine all those Socs drunk and passed out, ruin that pretty rep fast."

"Come on, they drink more than we do," Roth said. "Even the girls."

There was another ripple of laughter.

"Set the place on fire." Carl looked a little too excited at that option.

"Yeah, well not so extreme as that," Tim said, eyeing Carl. "But what I want to do is make Casing regret that he ever thought to associate me with it. If we can figure out a way to keep everyone in the building, we got a parking lot full of money."

"Holy shit," Jimmy whistled. "I didn't even think of it."

"Mustangs, Corvairs, you name it," Tim said. "Just sitting there for the picking. Now, we don't have anyone to fence off the whole car yet, so this would be strictly a parts operation. Carbs, mufflers, radios, hood ornaments, anything these bastards keep in the cars -"

"Hubs, tires, hell, we could even jack a car up and gets the rims off those things. I saw some nice Rally wheels on a Mustang in the lot the other day," Ray said. "We could get them."

Tim was pleased to see the thought of money and the challenge of getting it was distracting them from the fact Tim was actually going to be on the prom committee.

"What about the folks inside?" Hamilton asked. "I don't like the idea they don't get what's coming to them. Big deal, daddy has to buy them new hubs."

"They'll get what's coming," Tim said. "I got an idea about prom. A way to make all them Socs regret ever setting foot in that gym. I don't plan on letting these Socs get away with shit either."

"This could be real good," Ray said, smiling a shark-like smile.

They chatted for the better part of an hour, and Tim shared his plan, telling Ray and Carl to check out how viable things were in the boiler room. Bill had the good idea to start training the boys for speed. They decided to work some late nights, trying to lift hubs or strip cars.

"I'll find us a few junkers," Bill said. Drive 'em down here and leave 'em, we can practice."

"And keep your eyes open for a building we can use," Tim said. "I ain't too eager to have this out in the open. I don't plan on any of us getting nabbed for this. You all keep your mouths shut about this, prom committee included. If it all goes right, Casing won't be able to prove I had a thing to do with it."

* * *

**A/N:** zevie, lots of backstory just for you lol. Now that we're all set up it's back to the committee soon. And, um, anyone think the "don't tell anyone about this" part of Tim's plan is wishful thinking? lol.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.

**Author's Note: **Before you read this chapter, head on over to visit Artemis Rex (link in my profile) and read her new fic "Luck Be A Lady" which ties in with this. Her first chapter ends right as this one begins and you don't want to miss what she has in store.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

_**Monday, March 15, 1965**_

Tim watched Jimmy flee down the hall with a girl after school – flee was really the only good word for it. He couldn't blame him – good ol' Donna was hollering about Jimmy being late for rehearsals for _Guys and Dolls_.

Jimmy Lewis in the school musical was almost as bad as Tim Shepard on the prom committee. If one more member of his gang ended up in a pansy activity, they were done for. At least he'd been forced to do it. Jimmy … well, there was a girl behind it, that much was obvious. It was always a girl with him.

_Guys and Dolls_. If he remembered right from that old Sinatra re-run, it was about gangsters and gambling, which was alright, but it had a lot of singing and dancing. Jimmy was up shit creek.

He paused for a second, Donna Newbury still chasing Jimmy and the girl down to the end of the hall. _Guys and Dolls_ might be a decent cover. If his boys could show up at the prom dressed like old time gangsters, they wouldn't stick out like sore thumbs in the parking lot. The minute Casing spotted a leather jacket hanging around a Soc's car, they were in for it and the cops were showing up.

_Guys and Dolls_ had some promise. It could provide some half decent cover if he could just work some magic.

XXXX

Anne was hoping to get to Monday's prom meeting early, but after being called back to talk with Miss Sadler about her history paper, she was running late. Prom committee was scheduled to meet twice a week until prom, which was held at the beginning of May. It kicked off the official end of the school year to her – after that it was just exams and the graduation ceremony she'd be ushering for. Then it was on to senior year and greener pastures.

Anne tried her best to get Donna to reconsider, but her friend was adamant - prom committee was not for her. Donna already had to contend with orchestra and pep club, so asking her to take on another activity so late in the year was probably not the best thing, but she wished she had Donna at her side when she thought about walking into the room with all those kids.

Anne was desperate to get in good with them. Donna just didn't get it. Donna was fine with standing on the sidelines, but Anne wanted - no, she _needed_ - more. Donna would see once Anne helped the committee out and got them all on her side. Their senior year would be filled with getting invited to parties and hanging out with the right people. She'd finally be where she belonged.

She slowed down as she approached the classroom, pulling her compact out of her purse. She patted her nose down with powder and checked her hair. When she was done, she snapped it close and slipped it into her purse.

She was startled to see Tim Shepard lurking nearby, watching her with an amused smile. She was surprised he came back, but if Mr. Casing was going to be watching him, she supposed he didn't have a choice. Mr. Casing did say he had to check in before and after.

Tim looked at her as she walked up to the classroom door.

"Your friend not coming?"

She was startled he'd spoken. He rarely said much, from what she could see.

"Donna? No, she decided she wasn't into all this."

"Smart girl."

She glanced towards the door. "Is everyone in there?"

He nodded. She noticed he had a cigarette tucked behind his ear. He had a leather jacket on over his shirt, which had the shirt tails untucked. The teachers made all the boys, even the greasers, take off their leather jackets and tuck their shirts in, at least when class was in. They couldn't really control what they did with their hair as long as it was neat, and Tim's was combed back, the curls glossy.

She looked away as he noticed her studying him. She smoothed her skirt down, then took a breath and opened the door, prepared to face the lions.

XXXX

Tim followed Anne into the room. She had preened quite a bit before going inside, and he wondered which boy it was she was trying to snag.

"Sorry I'm late," she said. "I had to talk to Miss Sadler."

Tim noticed everyone looked past her, their eyes on him. They were probably shocked he'd shown up again. Anne sat down around the table and took out her notebook and a pencil. He noticed everyone else had notepads out, like they were actually going to get down to some business this time.

Tim sauntered over, taking his time, then pulled out a chair and sat down near Christine Weston. He leaned over, pulled a sheet of paper from her notebook and placed it in front of him. He pulled a pen out of his pocket and clicked it, then watched everyone around the table.

All eyes were on him, and he felt a surge of power. He could control each and every one of these idiots if he worked them the right way. Tim noticed Ken, Jeffrey and Michael were watching him like they were just waiting to start a fight. He was itching to knock their heads together, but not just yet. He could take care of them much later if all went according to the plan forming in his head.

"Oh, Donna's not coming," Anne said, breaking the spell around the table.

Everyone turned their attention to Anne.

"Why isn't Donna coming?" Christine asked.

"Donna has too much on her plate with her school work and orchestra and pep club," Anne said. "She decided not to join the committee."

Christine gave her the side eye. "I guess some of us aren't as organized as others. I know a lot of us have many extra-curricular activities and we still manage to be here. Never mind, then. A small group will be more manageable."

Anne shifted in her seat, and Tim wondered what Christine's game was. Anne didn't say another word, but kept gazing at Christine like she'd just been banished from the kingdom. Maybe the preening wasn't for a boy after all. Anne seemed awful eager for the girls to approve of her and maybe that's what this was all about.

Anne was wearing a plaid skirt and a white blouse, a sweater vest over top. Her hair was in a ponytail, her bangs resting on her forehead. She wore a little lipstick and was presentable enough. She had all the parts, but when he really looked at her, she was missing that sheen the Socs had. The stink of money didn't wash off her.

Little dog trying to run with the big dogs, Tim thought, watching Anne's face.

Trudy spoke next. "Holly Ann's not coming either."

"And what's Holly's excuse?" Christine asked tapping her perfectly shaped nails on the table top.

"Um, she just didn't feel comfortable," Trudy said. She glanced over at Tim, who snorted out a laugh. "She said she'd rather leave it to us. She didn't like the company."

Tim's brow creased, and he pictured Holly Ann again and it almost hit him like a ton of bricks. He remembered her - from Buck's. She'd been sitting on his couch about a month ago, with another girl who looked like a fish outta water. She'd had on some trashy eyeliner, but those stupid pigtails were what he remembered.

He also remembered buying her a couple beer, making out with her in the pantry and then sneaking off to his car where she went down on him and capped off a pretty good night.

He smiled down at the table. She was probably shitting bricks that he was going to tell everyone. She had a nice mouth, so he'd keep his shut.

"What's the first order of business?" Anne asked.

"Well ... " Brenda began slowly. "I guess the first thing we need to do is decide on a theme. Everything else will come from there."

Tim sat back in his chair and decided to let this play out for now. One of his first rules was to learn as much as he could about something before jumping in. You get in too early, you make mistakes.

"How about 'A Night to Remember?'" Trudy suggested.

"I like something about Paris. We could do 'A Night in Paris,'" Brenda said. "We could have a cut out of the Eiffel Tower."

"Where on earth are we going to get a cut out of the Eiffel Tower?" Michael asked disdainfully.

"Art department, thank you," Brenda said haughtily.

"You can't expect them to pick up all your slack if you don't want to put the effort in yourself to make props and decorations," Christine said.

The voices were raised as everyone started arguing.

"We could do a better theme than 'A Night in Paris,'" Trudy said.

"Oh, like 'A Night to Remember' is so much better?" Christine said. "Really, girls, we need to be more creative."

"What about 'Young Love'?" Brenda suggested.

Ken and Michael exchanged looks, and Michael mimed putting a finger down his throat. Tim silently agreed.

"We could do something like 'Garden of Eden' and have it like a spring garden," Christine said. "That could be romantic and beautiful."

"Yeah, and a whole lotta guys wanting girls in fig leaves," Ken said, getting a high five from Michael. Christine pursed her lips and stared them down.

"It's meant to be elegant."

"I think it'd be perfect," Anne piped up.

Tim caught the look Christine shot Brenda, but he didn't think Anne caught it. It was kind of sad to watch her trying to impress them. The girls seemed all too aware of it. Tim knew those looks. They were gonna make little Annie work for it.

"How about a Hawaiian luau?" Jeffrey asked, pushing his glasses up on his face. "Those are real popular."

"You can't have an elegant prom when everyone's sitting on the floor and dressed in sarongs," Christine said.

"I'm all for sarongs," Tim said, eyeing Christine. She was momentarily flustered, then turned back to the group.

"A Hawaiian luau is out."

Tim nipped a smile in the bud.

"What about an 'Evening of Dreams,'" Ken suggested. "That's open to interpretation."

Christine jotted it down next to the Paris thing and the Night to Remember. If Tim had his way, it certainly would be one.

"Anne, what are your ideas?" Christine asked, regarding the girl.

Tim glanced at Christine, seeing the set of the girl's mouth. There was a smile there, but a sneaking one. Anne, on the other hand, looked like the Queen of England had just spoken to her.

"Oh, well, I have a lot of ideas. We could do an enchanted grotto? Or a masquerade theme? Or how about Under the Desert Sky? Or we could do something like A Sea of Stars and do a sky or underwater them," Anne said, running out of breath, she was talking so fast.

Everyone looked amused.

"That's a lot of ideas," Christine said, tapping her pen on the paper. "Brenda? Anything else?"

He saw the disappointment flash across Anne's face for a split second, then she was all amiable smiles again.

"What about Magic Under the Stars?" Brenda said.

"If you mean gettin' up someone's skirt, you're headed in the right direction," Tim said with a grin.

"You are so vulgar."

Tim shrugged.

"Haven't heard you come up with any ideas," Michael said. "If you can't pull your weight, maybe Casing ought to figure out another activity for you."

"Yeah, what about it, Shepard?" Ken Ellison said. "You gonna dazzle us with your ideas? Somehow I don't think 'Back of a Chevy' or 'Northside Railway Tracks' are themes that'll carry through."

The group laughed - he noticed Anne looked around before she did - then he sat back in his chair and shrugged. None of it would matter in the end. These kids would all get what was coming to them, and no matter the theme, it was going to end up in ruins.

XXXX

Anne felt a little bad laughing at Tim. He was a fish out of water after all, and she couldn't really imagine him attending a prom. Actually, she didn't recall ever seeing him at a high school dance or a play or anything. Maybe once he was at a football game - she seemed to remember there were a bunch of the older greaser boys throwing things onto the field, and they pelted the Nathan Hale quarterback with clods of dirt during a game once, until the coach pitched a fit. The referees got into it, the players got into it, and before you knew it, the crowd was in a fight. It took an hour to calm everyone back down, and the game had to be called since they had no lights on the field at the time.

No, prom probably wasn't his thing.

He was looking around at everyone, and she was afraid to hear his idea.

"People don't pay attention to damn themes," he said, the curse coming out of his mouth easily, as if he'd been born saying it.

"The theme is the most important thing," Brenda said, blushing to the roots.

"You been to a prom?" Tim asked.

"Of course," she said. "I was prom queen last year. First junior to ever win it."

"What was theme?" Tim asked.

Brenda looked at him, her eyes round, then glanced around the table. "Well, I had a lot to do that night, and I wasn't on the committee, I can't remember everything."

"That's my point," Tim said. "No one gives a damn."

"Can you stop it with the language?" Trudy asked.

"Offending your delicate sensibilities?" Tim asked. "Fact is, no one cares about a theme. Folks care about the food, the drinks, the music."

"How would you know, you've never been to a school dance. The police haven't shown up at least, so I don't_ think_ you have," Christine said.

"Oh, honey, you'd know it if I was there," Tim said, leaning into her. She shrugged away from him, and Anne had the wild urge to laugh. She'd never seen Christine Weston this uncomfortable.

"Why don't we pick colours and settle on a theme later?" Anne suggested, hoping to distract everyone from what was sure to be the start of a fight.

"That's a stupid idea," Trudy said. "You can't pick a colour without knowing the theme."

"His theme would probably suck anyway," Michael said. "We can't have a girlie show at prom."

"You boys must think I have some fun then." Tim was grinning at Michael, but it wasn't a friendly smile.

"We need to focus," Christine said.

"Yeah, and it's not gonna be on his idea," Jeffrey said. "I can just see him bringing cases of beer and turning it into an orgy and everyone gets arrested."

Tim leaned back in his chair, tipping the legs precariously. He lit a cigarette again. Anne glanced up sure he'd set off the new sprinkler system if he kept it up. Either that or Mr. Casing would catch him and give them all hell for letting him smoke in a classroom.

"What's them theatre kids doin'?" Tim asked.

Anne frowned, unsure of his question. "What do you mean? What's the musical this semester?"

Tim nodded.

"_Guys and Dolls_," Anne said. "My friend Marjorie's in it."

Tim was looking her right in the eye, and he nodded slightly. She frowned, not sure what he was getting at.

"What does it matter?" Ken asked. "Let's figure this out."

"No, that's it!" Anne said, getting at Tim's idea. "_Guys and Dolls_ is set in the 1920s or '30s, I forget which. You know, gamblers and gangsters and all that."

"Oh, I saw that old movie with Marlon Brando," Trudy said. "What a hunk!"

"We could do it up like a cabaret show, with cigarette girls and the whole nine yards," Brenda said. "I bet you anything if we did a 1920s theme we could use the theatre department's stage pieces. They'll be done the play a week before prom."

"They've got a real nice cabaret set for the Hot Box scenes," Anne said.

"That would save us a fortune," Christine said. "We'd need to get balloons and streamers and things. Maybe in black and silver and white! It really would be a night to remember. Oh, that has to be the theme – A Night to Remember!"

"Oh, we could see if any of the theatre kids would want to do a few bits from the musical as part of the entertainment. Oh, we could have photography set up like a news stand! It'll look cherry!" Trudy said. "Brenda, this is a great idea."

Anne frowned, wondering how on earth Trudy thought this was Brenda's idea.

She looked over at Tim, waiting for him to jump in and take the credit where it was due, but he was blowing a few smoke rings. He caught her looking at him, and she glanced at Trudy and frowned a little.

Tim winked at her.

She glanced down at the table, then over at him again. He was looking at her with an amused expression. Maybe he didn't want credit.

Of course not, Anne thought. It would probably ruin his reputation.

She smiled at that, wondering what on earth his friends must think about him being forced to join the prom committee. He didn't seem to care much, but maybe everyone was afraid of him enough that they wouldn't dare make fun of him. Wouldn't that be a nice problem to have.

"We need to organize ourselves," Christine said decisively. "How about sub-committees?"

"We need a committee for decorations, one for food and drinks," Brenda said.

"Another for music. We'll need a band to play," Trudy said. "What else?"

"We need logistics," Jeffrey said. "A sub-committee to take on things like renting tables and chairs and setting up the gym and printing up tickets."

"That's four sub-committees, and two people per committee is everybody," Brenda mused. She not-so-subtly glanced over at Tim, likely wondering what exactly he would do. "Well, I'll work with Ken, since we're always together."

"Jeffrey, how about you and I work together?" Trudy suggested.

"And I'll take Michael, we live close to each other, right Michael?" Christine asked quickly. "Anne, that leaves you and Tim."

She looked up, a bit shocked everything had been decided so quickly. Everyone was paired up boy girl of course, but she was hoping to get paired up with Michael. The next best thing to getting in with Christine was getting in with Michael and his crowd. Christine's boyfriend ran with him, and she knew the boys could have influence over whether the girls brought her into their group. Tim Shepard wasn't exactly the kind of guy that was going to get her an in with the right crowd.

But maybe it was a test. Maybe if she could work well with him and do whatever her sub-committee was to the nines they'd take notice of her. That's what it was - they were seeing if she had the guts to carry it all off.

Tim was looking at her, amused again, and raised an eyebrow slightly. He tamped out his cigarette on the table and stowed the butt in the cigarette pack in his jacket pocket.

"I think these sub-committees will work nicely," Christine said. "I'd like to handle logistics. I've run so many Red Cross events, I think that'll be our strong suit, don't you Michael?"

"Oh, I really wanted to do it," Brenda said. "I love lots of planning."

"But you don't want it to look like it's a set up," Christine said. "I mean, logistics will be in charge of the prom king and queen competition, and you don't want anyone thinking you've rigged it."

"I guess you're right," Brenda sighed.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, you're acting like you already won it," Tim said. "You may as well wear that princess crown around school now if that's the case."

"I won Queen," Brenda said icily.

Michael, who looked a little shell shocked himself at being thrust into a sub-committee with Christine, was nodding along with her. "It'll be more impartial with us."

There was a snort of laughter from Tim.

"Well, my uncle is a musician," Brenda said, her voice subdued. "I could do music."

"Oh, I play piano," Anne said quickly. "My mother teaches it. I know plenty of musicians, I could do real well with music."

It might even be something Tim knew about.

"It's probably better that we handle it," Ken said. "I know Wally Mayor, who plays in a band here at school. They're real popular at some of the social clubs on the Ribbon. I bet we could get them and arrange it all."

Anne tried not to let her disappointment show.

"Well, I'll have to volunteer us for refreshments," Jeffrey said. "I think it'd be best."

Trudy shrugged, not looking all that excited at the prospect of finger food and punch. Anne didn't exactly want to volunteer, not after they shot her down so much. She had a feeling they would shoot her down too, just because it'd be obvious she didn't want decorations. Decorations were so much work.

Maybe they don't want him around food, Anne said, glancing over at Tim, who seemed completely unconcerned by the decisions being made without him. They were probably afraid he'd spike the punch and get all the juniors, seniors and chaperones drunk.

"That leaves decorations for Anne and Tim," Christine said. Anne thought she heard a note of smug laughter in Christine's voice. For a moment, her urge to get in with the popular girl wavered. She didn't want to be the butt of a joke. A second later, she steeled her resolve.

"Great!" she said. "I love decorations. It'll be fabulous."

"I think that's enough for today," Brenda said. "Why don't we all brainstorm and when we meet on Friday we can formalize the ideas?"

Everyone readily agreed, and Anne packed up her books and tightened the book strap around them. Tim had already made a beeline for the door, and she hurried to catch up with him. They had planning to do.

XXXX

Tim checked in at Casing's office, and he thought the principal actually looked surprised to see he was still attending the meetings. He wondered if Casing would check up on him and ask those rich losers if he was actually there. He could just see one of them lying their guts out just to see him in trouble.

After he ran into Jimmy and had his suspicions confirmed, he wandered around the empty hallways.

Tim knew Bill wasn't going to be around to pick him up, and he really wasn't into the idea of taking the bus. He could probably hitch along the main road and then walk up to the North side if he found someone willing to stop.

He headed out the doors and towards the road.

"Hey, wait up!"

He turned around and saw Anne Macdonald chasing after him. He turned and kept walking.

"Geez, you're in an awful hurry. Maybe they did get to you," she said.

"About as much as they got to you."

She paused, then caught up to his strides again. "So I was thinking maybe we could get to work on this?"

"Get to work on what?" Tim asked.

"The decorations, silly," Anne said.

"Annie, I ain't making crepe paper roses," he said wearily, sticking out his thumb when he reached the main road.

Anne watched him. "It's Anne, actually. And I never said there had to be roses. But we should plan something. Can we go somewhere?"

He looked at her, wondering what her game was. She frowned at him, watching him thumbing for a ride, like she was itching to disapprove of it.

"Look, kid, I ain't playing this prom game no matter what you think," Tim said.

"It's just, decorations is a big committee," she said. "I mean there's a lot to think about, and then price things out, then purchase everything and then decorate the actual gym when it's time. There's the stage to think about and - "

"Looks like you already think it all."

She sighed, and she pushed her bangs back off her forehead. A car began to slow as it approached him, and he spotted Dale Barnes behind the wheel.

"Well, I'm gonna need help," Anne said. "Tim?"

He opened the passenger door to Dale's car.

"So find some help," he told her. "You're crazy anyway, if you think them kids are gonna start treating you better just because you can twirl crepe paper around the rafters. They don't care about you none, Annie. Nothing gonna change that."

She was frowning at him, and he got in and shut the door, then cranked the window open.

He lit a cigarette.

"You're just being negative!" she called out as the car pulled away. "You better start thinking of ideas!"

Her voice got lost in the wind.

* * *

**A/N:** So ... something tells me Tim won't have a fun time dodging Anne for the foreseeable future lol. I'm hoping to stay on schedule with updates, but things have been kind of nuts with work, so cross your fingers for me.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.

**Author's Note: **This chapter comes right after chapter two of "Luck Be A Lady" by Artemis Rex, which will hopefully be posted soon. Zevie, the Dallas is just for you lol.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

_**Wednesday, March 17, 1965**_

It happened Wednesday afternoon at the Dingo.

He should've known it would. His boys couldn't keep their mouths shut if their lives depended on it. The only question was which one of those fuck ups had opened his fat mouth and told him.

"Well, well, well," a voice said. It was dripping with tense glee.

Tim was sitting on top of a picnic table at the Dingo, watching as Ray Roth ran a shell game with matchboxes on some unsuspecting freshmen around the side of the building. Roth heard the voice, looked up, gathered his things and took off, leaving the freshman standing there, confused and short fifty cents.

Tim turned and watched Dallas Winston approach. He was smiling, and that meant trouble for him, mostly because he knew what one thing would make Dallas smile like that.

"If it isn't Timothy Shepard, Prom King."

Dallas laughed at his own joke, and Tim sighed. He should've known it was coming.

"You got something to say?"

"Where do I start?" Dallas asked, his grin shark-like and predatory. "Do I start with the fact they've turned you into a pansy or the part where you're the principal's bitch?"

Tim wanted nothing more to fly at him, but he held his breath, counted ten, waited for the tension to leave him.

"Christ, Shepard, you so hard up for them Socs you gotta be on the prom committee with 'em now?" Dallas said. "Jesus Christ. Prom committee! Not only that, word has it Lewis is in a fucking musical. What kind of gang you running, Shepard? Instead of those leather jackets, we oughta get you some aprons."

He took another deep breath, his gaze flicking to the people watching. He tried to count down, to ignore Dally, but that fucking face of his, the sharp grin and taunting eyes, were doing him in. He balled up his fists, then let his grip loose. He could control himself.

"What's next, Shepard? Sewing those aprons in home ec?"

Fuck control. This would be worth it.

Tim moved off the table and swung for Dally's midsection, but he was ready for it. He clocked Tim in the temple, and it only served to enrage him. He knew it was a mistake taking the first swing, but sometimes it couldn't be helped. Sometimes faces like Dally's just needed punching.

He socked Dallas in the face with a hard right, then ducked Dally's return punch. He shoved him back against a Packard in the lot. Kids were gathered around cheering, but for whom, it wasn't clear. Fights like this it was best not to pick a side.

Dallas shoved him away, then charged at him, catching him in the torso. His boots slipped on the loose gravel, sending him off balance. They both crashed down onto the ground, and Tim took the opportunity to roll, punching Dallas in the face as he got on top of him. He saw the red bloom above his eye.

Dallas kicked a leg out and nailed in him the side with a punch before kicking Tim off of him. Dallas flicked out his switch, but a second later Bill was hauling Tim up, and Mathews and Randle were pulling Dallas away.

The kids milling around started to break up, but kept sneaking looks at him. He was out of breath and angry, not just at Dallas. He should've kept his cool. The whole fucking universe was going to know now.

He shook Bill's arms off, then paced for a minute. He took a breath, then headed towards Dallas.

"Tim – "

"Cool it, I got this," he said to Bill.

Mathews and Randle approached him before he could get to Dallas.

"Need bodyguards there, Dal?"

Dallas laughed, then nodded at Mathews and Randle. The two fell back, hovering close enough in case Tim was faking them out to start something. Dallas was holding paper napkins up to his eyebrow, the white paper soggy with blood.

"Never thought it'd be true," Dallas laughed.

"Wasn't my call." Tim took out a cigarette to steady his hands, flicking a match alight with his thumb. "Casing's got it in for me."

"That fat fuck railroaded me a few times before I got smart and got outta there, but prom committee? Jesus Christ, Shepard, what'd you do, bone his daughter?"

Tim shrugged.

"Dunno why you stick around anyway," Dallas said. "Fuckin' school was a drag, man."

"Yeah, well, some of us got brains enough to keep us there." Tim blew out a stream of smoke. His knuckles were starting to throb. Dallas had a hard head.

"Then you got Lewis in the musical?" Dallas barked out a harsh laugh. "I never thought I'd see the Shepard boys looking like a buncha pansies."

Tim stared at him. "Lotsa things you don't know, Dallas. Things you probably don't get, seein' as you ain't in school. Maybe this prom thing ain't what you think. It might be a good idea to keep your opinions to yourself."

Dallas's gaze narrowed. "What've you got goin'?"

"It ever becomes your business, I'll let you know," Tim said, flicking ash towards Dallas.

That hint they had something going would be enough to drive Dallas crazy. He hated being out of the loop.

"As it is, Dally, I'd be careful who you run your mouth to," Tim said, raising his voice slightly, just so the crowds could hear him. He started walking backwards, in the general direction of Bill's car. "Jimmy's just an understudy. It's hard to call us pansies when your boy Mathews got the lead. He's gotta tap dance, Dallas."

Tim saw the alarm on Mathews' face. The look of dumbfounded shock on Dallas's was enough to satisfy Tim almost as much as punching him had.

XXXX

_**Friday, March 19, 1965**_

Anne was desperately worried on Friday. She hadn't been able to plan a single thing. She never told Tim her telephone number, and she had no idea where he hung out and so they never met to plan. She knew they were just going to rip her apart at Friday's meeting.

She hesitated outside the door to the classroom, hoping to catch Tim before he came in, so she could figure out what they'd tell everyone about why they had no ideas. She waited five minutes, but he wasn't there. Maybe he'd given up on going along with the principal after all.

After waiting five minutes she had to admit it didn't look like he was going to show up. The disappointment welled up. Donna had been right – he _was_ the most interesting thing about these meetings. She sighed, then opened the class room door.

She stopped as she looked around the table – Tim was already sitting there, a cigarette tucked behind his ear.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. She looked at him, but he was paying her no mind. "Sorry I'm late."

"You're making it a habit," Christine said. "Problems with history again?"

"No, just ... sorry," Anne said, hurrying over to an open chair around the big, circular table and sitting down. She fished a piece of paper from her exercise book and was poised to take notes.

"Let's go around and hear everyone's plans for their sub-committees," Christine said. "Michael and I have the gym secured for May eighth, and we arranged with the theatre department to use their props and scenery from the musical. We've also asked four teachers to be chaperones, but we may need more."

"Looks like we'll have a big turnout," Michael said. "In fact, there won't be enough tickets for every junior and senior."

"Oh, I'll need written reports from everyone," Brenda piped up. "Our faculty adviser, Mrs. Needham, wants to know what our progress is like."

"Isn't she supposed to be in on the meetings?" Jeffrey asked.

Brenda shrugged. "She's about a hundred years ago. If you ask me, we're lucky she doesn't care enough to supervise."

Brenda's gaze shot over to Tim. Anne wondered if Brenda maybe wished Mrs. Needham would supervise Tim right on out of the committee. She stared at Tim for a minute. He hadn't looked at her once after she came in the room.

"Back to everyone's plans," Christine said, tapping her pen against her notebook.

They went around the table slowly, and finally came to Anne.

"Uh, well," she said, playing with her pencil. "Um, we're going to get some streamers, the crepe paper kind. Maybe balloons. No, definitely balloons too. I think black and silver and white. And maybe some red too, just for some colour? Um ..."

"Anne, did you and Tim manage to get anything done?" Christine asked.

Anne felt her face burning up. She shifted in her seat and tried not to look over at Tim. She just couldn't put it all on him. She could've made an effort to do some planning on her own.

"Lay off her," Tim piped up. "Hard to have anything to tell when we don't meet to plan shit."

"Can you please not swear? And are you going to take this seriously at all?" Christine asked. "You may not care about this school, but we do."

Tim shrugged, and Anne felt some relief that Christine wasn't looking at her. She wanted to cry. She should've planned everything out herself, but it was supposed to be a team effort. She didn't know what to do when half of her team didn't want to be on the team.

She snuck a look at Tim through her downcast lashes. He was looking at Christine, his mouth quirked into an unkind smile.

"It'll come together," Tim said.

"You need to do a lot of things," Brenda said. "We need to know how much the decorations are so we can budget. You two need to find out how much we'll need. Take measurements of the gym to be sure."

Tim rolled his eyes. Anne looked over at him. He was just going to have to buck up and do it.

"We'll have some information for you at the next meeting," Anne said. She looked over at Tim and locked gazes with him. "I promise."

She would too. She didn't care if she had to staple Tim Shepard to a seat, he was going to plan this prom with her.

XXXX

Annie was giving him the eye.

The minute they wrapped up for the meeting, he beat it out of there and headed to Casing's office. The principal was getting used to seeing him, and barely acknowledged he was there. Tim went to leave the office and saw Annie hovering outside.

He walked out of the office and toward the side doors, ignoring her.

"Tim, wait up!" she called out.

He didn't slow down, and she hurried to catch up with him.

"You can cut it out already, Annie."

"Tim, come on," she said. "They're crucifying me in there."

"So come up with some ideas on your own," he said. He hadn't quite decided how he was going to handle things inside the gym, so coming up with decorations wasn't his idea of a good time. Until he could figure out how to keep everyone out of the parking lot, there wasn't going to be a prom for him.

"It's a team effort, Tim," she said.

He stopped, turned around and looked at her.

"Why the hell do you care?" he asked. "They're content to have me outta their hair. They won't care if you carry the work."

"But I can't," Annie pleaded. "Do you know how much work there is? Decorations is the hardest committee. If Holly Ann or Donna stuck around, I know they'd be on the committee with us, because we need the most help."

Tim doubted that. They seemed to want to sink her pretty quick, and he had a feeling good ol' Donna would be helping with logistics. Christine would stick her there just to fuck with Annie.

He turned back around and walked toward the road, aiming to thumb a ride again.

"I've got a car today, I can drop you somewhere. Or we could go to The Way Out or something," Annie suggested. "I just need some feedback. Someone to tell me if my ideas aren't that good. You seem to know what they'll like, they jumped on your idea."

"Yeah, and you saw what happened," he said, sticking his thumb out.

"They took credit, sure, I saw." Annie brushed her bangs out of her face. "You could've said something."

"You don't get it, Annie," he said. "Wouldn't matter what I say. They've decided greasers ain't worth it."

Annie stared at him.

"Annie, they've decided you aren't either, you know," Tim said, wondering if the kid even realized it. "No matter what you do, Christine don't want you as a friend. She don't even want you as a lap dog."

Annie looked like she'd been slapped, but her face cleared a second later and she attempted a smile. It was the damndest thing.

"At least let's give it a try," Annie said. "I can drive, and we can go to The Way Out. Or Rusty's."

"You ever seen me in The Way Out? Or Rusty's for that matter? Hell, kid, have _you_ ever been there?"

She flushed pink, and he was pretty sure she hadn't. He had a feeling walking into a Soc hangout with him wouldn't do her any favours, and for a split second he was tempted to do it to teach her a lesson.

She was frowning at him, then shook her head. "Well, you pick, then."

He couldn't take this chick to the Dingo. The last thing he needed was people seeing him actually plan a prom. He had a feeling Annie'd have no problem talking all about prom committee in front of everyone, she was a chatty type. He couldn't stand it when girls gabbed, and she looked like she had a mouth on her.

"You can drop me at my place. I'll give you directions."

She looked momentarily surprised, then covered it up with a smile. "Sure. Come on, I'm in the side parking lot."

She sashayed towards it, her ponytail swinging as she walked.

XXXX

Anne followed Tim's instructions and drove past the tracks to the North side of town. She had to ask him not to smoke in the car – if her mother and father smelled smoke in it, they'd hit the roof. They only let her take the car to school once in a blue moon, and she wasn't about to waste it.

She glanced at his profile as she drove toward the North side. He had a nice profile, even if there was a little bump below the bridge of his nose. She figured he must've broken it once upon a time. She glanced over at him again, the quickly looked forward when he caught her staring. She tried not to blush.

"Turn left onto East Archer, then right at the end of the street," he said.

She nodded. He wasn't too far from the downtown, on a street not far from the railway tracks that led out of Tulsa.

There was no sidewalk, just a worn path along the grass. There was long grass in the front yard, bending over in the breeze like it was taking a bow, and his house looked like it was the size of a shoe box from the outside. She took a deep breath as she followed him along the sidewalk, weeds sprouting up between the cracks.

He walked up the two stairs to a small front porch and pushed open the unlocked front door. She followed slowly - she could hear the television going full blast as the door swung open.

"Turn that down, will you?" Tim hollered.

She saw a boy lying on the living room floor without a shirt. He saw her standing in the doorway and scrambled up, grabbing a shirt off the couch and slipping it over his head. Anne looked away, embarrassed.

The house was messy, with lots of newspapers scattered around, and a curio cabinet filled with Hummel figurines. She walked towards it.

"My mother collects them too," she said. "They kind of scare me."

Tim raised an eyebrow at her.

"Well, look at them. They're just creepy," she said, staring at the little girl in the apple tree. She gave an involuntary shudder, and she heard Tim laugh softly.

She looked back at the boy in the living room, who was at least clothed now. He looked just like Tim and could only be his brother.

"That's Curly," Tim said, noticing her gaze.

"Hi," she said.

Curly nodded at her, then looked at Tim with a questioning expression.

"From school," Tim said. "You know."

"He knows what?" A girl with long black hair came out of the kitchen and into the living room. She looked to be about twelve or thirteen.

"Nothing," Tim said. "Where's mom?"

"I'm right here," came a voice.

An older woman came into the kitchen doorway, gripping the door frame to keep her balance.

"You alright?" Tim asked, his voice stone cold. His expression, which she wouldn't have really said was easygoing a moment ago, was tense now.

"It's my back, acting up so bad," she said.

Anne watched Tim look at his sister, who shrugged, then at his brother. Something passed between the three of them, one of those moments Anne had never experienced since she was an only child herself.

"Why don't you go lie down?" Tim suggested. His sister squeezed past him and went to the television and turned the channel. Her brother flung her away from the television and turned it back. They began to argue and Tim moved toward the kitchen. Anne followed, looking into the small kitchen and catching a glimpse of his mother.

She had chestnut brown hair, and Anne couldn't really see much of a resemblance to Tim, or his siblings.

"Who's this?" his mother asked, looking at Anne, her expression delighted.

"That's Annie."

"Anne Macdonald," she said, stepping forward. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Shepard."

"Coleman, dear," she said. "I haven't been Mrs. Shepard in a long time."

"Sorry." She could feel her face flushing again.

"Tim, I'm surprised, you bringing a nice girl home. Is she staying for dinner?"

His mother swayed and Tim stepped in to straighten her mother up.

"No, mom," Tim said.

A moment later the front door opened, and Anne looked out the kitchen door to see a man entering. He wore thick work boots and she could smell the oil from where she stood. A refinery man, probably. Her own father worked at the steel fabrication plant on the North side, so it wasn't like she knew nothing about blue collar work. Tim seemed to think she was just like Christine, a whole lot of money and that's it.

"Who's that?" the man asked, coming into the kitchen nodding towards her.

"Anne. From school." Tim's voice had taken on a blank, defiant quality.

"You better not be fucking around and ditching classes," the man said. "We talked about this, you're out on your ass if you're fucking this up."

Anne tried not to let her surprise show. She knew Tim wasn't a saint when it came to language, but he made an effort not to swear like a sailor around the girls. She'd never heard a grown man swear like that in mixed company. She looked at Tim, whose face looked just as cool and blank as it ever had. He reminded her of the statue of Augustus they had studied in art class. His expression, unmoving, made him look like he was carved of marble for a moment.

She looked over at the man, his father or stepfather, and saw the anger growing in his expression at Tim's silence.

"Oh, we're working together on the prom committee," Anne piped up. "Tim's real helpful."

"The prom committee?" the man asked. "Are you kidding me? That's what activity you're doing? You just join that to get laid?"

"Hank!" the woman said, looking over at Anne with wide eyes before settling her gaze on Tim. "And why on earth are you on the prom committee? Even I can see that's a bit of a joke, isn't it?"

"Casing's idea, not mine," Tim said.

"Jesus, the prom committee," Hank said laughing. "That'll fix you real good for skipping classes. Maybe you'll think twice."

She frowned. Tim would be graduating, so there was no thinking twice about school after that. She wondered how much his family paid attention to things.

"You gonna get all dressed up and go to prom? If you are, don't count on a cent for it, I'm not wasting my money on shit like prom."

"What about prom?" The sister had turned her attention away from Curly and wandered into the kitchen, which was now crammed full of people.

"Your brother's on the prom committee," the man said, his voice thick with laughter. He walked past her to a cupboard and got a glass out, then a bottle of bourbon from the cabinet. He poured a large drink and took a gulp.

Tim's sister was looking at Tim, in what could only be describe as total glee.

"Really?" she asked laughing. "Oh my God. That's like putting me in mechanics, only I don't think I'd screw that up. This is so rich. Oh my God. What if the girls at school find out? They're really gonna rake me over the coals. You're supposed to be the cool one, Tim. This is just gonna shoot your rep."

She left the kitchen, walking down a hall laughing.

"Angela, that's enough laughing. I'm sure Timothy is embarrassed enough. You don't have to go, do you?" his mother asked.

"The principal made him, really," Anne said, feeling uncomfortable. She didn't really understand why his whole family seemed to think he'd been sentenced to the gallows.

His mother teetered again and grabbed the counter top. Tim watched her with wary eyes.

"Why don't you lie down?" Tim suggested.

"I think I will," she said. "It was nice meeting you dear."

"You better not stay lying down," Hank said, dropping an ice cube in his glass. "I'm not waiting up half the night for dinner like the other times your goddamn back aches. I come home after working all day, you don't hear me complaining."

"Hank, you ain't helpin', just let me be!" his mother screeched. "Can't even get a moment's peace when I'm in such pain, you're just a bastard."

"I'm sick and tired of you blaming me for all this shit!" Hank roared. He slammed the refrigerator door and took the bourbon into the living room. "I wanna eat by six, Lil, I ain't kidding."

Anne smiled, her stomach feeling knotted. His mother nodded at her, flashing a weak smile before leaving the kitchen and heading down the hall.

"Is she okay?" she asked Tim a minute later.

"Sometimes," he said, looking down the hall. "You hungry?"

She shook her head, a little afraid of what he had in the icebox.

"Things ain't so shiny on this side of the world, huh Annie?" Tim said, his voice not unkind.

She looked at him, not sure what to say.

"Come on," Tim said, nodding towards the front door. "We can get outta here."

"It's okay," Anne said. "I really need to get home anyway."

Tim looked at her, amusement in his face. She stood in the kitchen doorway, watching as his sister came down the hall, shot Tim a smile, then went into the living room. His father began arguing with his sister, their voices raised. She cringed as she heard some of the words coming from his sister.

"Would you guys shut up, I can't hear the fucking television!" Curly hollered.

"Don't you mouth me, boy," the man said. "You talk to me like that one more time and I'll slap you down."

"I better go," Anne said over the din. "Maybe we can meet this week sometime? I have a study period."

"After class is better."

Anne nodded, then walked quickly through the living room to the front door. She could still hear the yelling when she got to her car. She started the engine and drove back home quickly.

XXXX

"Think you scared her off?" Curly asked, coming into their bedroom a little while later.

Tim huffed a breath out. "Doubt it. Despite what that looked like I don't think she scares easy. I'm half expecting a pamphlet about helping the disadvantaged from her tomorrow."

"She's cute," Curly said.

Tim shrugged. She wasn't exactly his type, but she wasn't going to shatter any mirrors either. She filled her sweaters out in all the right places, too.

"Does she know what you're planning?" Curly asked.

Tim shook his head. "No. And I'm gonna keep it that way. No one knows outside the gang. The less people that open their mouths, the better chance we have of getting away with it all, so mind me. In the meantime, I need to score some cash to get my car out. It's killing me not having it."

"Pete's holding some," Curly said. "He stole a bunch of cigarettes from a gas station out in Sperry when he was visiting his grandma last week. Had a couple cartons he was selling around school."

"What's he holding it for? Y'all know the rules is to hand over my take right away."

Curly shrugged. "Maybe he needs a reminder."

Tim nodded. He'd give Pete a lesson, get some cash and get his car out of impound. That would do worlds to improving things.

He supposed it was time to start working with Annie. He couldn't let her hang the whole time, and he was probably going to need her at some point.

"It's gonna be a riot seeing that prom go to hell," Curly laughed. "Are you gonna mess it up like we're thinking?"

Tim nodded, but said nothing. The more Tim thought about the potential of destroying the whole thing, the more he liked it. Ray and Carl had reported back the boiler room lock was broken and the panel for the sprinkler system easy to access.

He pictured soggy crepe paper hanging from the rafters, and Christine Weston looking like a drowned rat.

Casing was going to be real sorry he put him on the prom committee.

XXXX

"Anne, you've been so quiet, are you not feeling well?" her mother asked.

"I'm fine," she said, pushing the mashed potatoes around her plate. "It's just ... the boy I'm paired up with for prom committee, he doesn't have a nice house like this."

"Well, there's dry rot on the front porch and knob and tube wiring throughout the whole house," her father said. "We don't really have a nice one either."

She smiled a little. She lived pretty close to the North side – there was a whole area in between the North and South sides with lots of people that struggled to make ends meet, but maybe not as much as people like Tim struggled. Her house was on a nice street - it had a sidewalk anyway - and they had a carport for her father's car. It was a three bedroom house - one of the bedrooms was her mother's piano room. They weren't rich by any means, but their house wasn't like Tim's either.

"I guess what I mean is his home life isn't nice like this," Anne said. "His mom was hurt I think, a back problem of some kind. And his father seemed awfully cross with everyone. He swore a blue streak, but I guess that's from working the refineries."

Her father looked at her and smiled kindly. "Some of us old lug blue collar boys can let the language get away from us at times, kitten. I wouldn't hold it against him."

She couldn't really explain it to them. His mother didn't just look sick, she looked far away. His father looked angry and mean, and she thought any minute he'd grab somebody and shake them like a rag doll. She was scared of Tim's house, and it made her feel awfully sad for him.

She didn't eat much dinner, then went into her room to do her homework. Her room was a bit too frilly when she thought about Tim's spartan house, and she struggled with feeling sad for him. His sister might not have a nice room like hers.

Her room had a nice, thick carpet in it, and her bedspread was clean and nice. There was no yelling down the hall and no siblings to come in and make fun of her.

Oh, she felt bad about that. It never occurred to her that Tim may not have told his family what was going on with school. She never really hid anything from her own parents, and she just didn't think it through. She didn't like seeing anyone get yelled at. She figured the man must be his stepfather since the mother had a different last name than Tim – and Tim didn't look a bit like him, none of them did - but it just wasn't right for him to assume Tim was doing something wrong or joining up a club for reasons other than they were.

She sighed and put her head down on her bed. She didn't get headaches very often, but she had one now.

She let the cat out of the bag to his family, they made fun of him for it and would probably give him the gears for a good long time. Then she had just run out of his house like a scared jack rabbit. She couldn't have been ruder if she tried.

He probably hated her now. She knew that if someone had thought her home was awful and run out, she probably wouldn't want to be around them anymore.

She thought for a minute, then picked up the phone on her desk and dialed Donna's number.

"What's wrong?" her friend asked, after no more than a hello had been exchanged.

"I went over to Tim Shepard's house today."

"Are you for real?" Donna asked. "What for?"

"To try and do some planning. At least I think that's why he invited me over. Maybe he just wanted a ride, I don't know. It was strange, Donna."

"What was?"

"His family. His father was just so mean."

"I think it's his stepfather. I talked to his younger brother once and he mentioned a stepdad."

"Well, he was awful. Said awful things and was just a terror. I accidentally told them he was on prom committee."

Donna started to laugh. "I'm sure he appreciated that."

"I feel awful. They got on him about it. His mother was all strange, and I think she got hurt or something. I was kinda scared. I got out of there awful quick, and I think I may have hurt his feelings."

Donna's peal of laughter was so loud Anne had to hold the phone away from her ear.

"I doubt Tim Shepard has feelings to hurt," Donna said, mirth in her voice. "He was probably expecting you to run off. I wouldn't worry about it."

"But I just feel awful!" Anne sighed. "I wish I could make it up to him. I'll apologize to him at school tomorrow."

Donna laughed again. "The only thing Tim Shepard would want is a pack of cigarettes, not an apology. He doesn't look like the type."

They talked for a little longer, then Anne hung up and stared at her homework. Maybe that's just what she would do. Apologise his way.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay in posting lately, work has been insane.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

_**Friday, March 26, 1965**_

A week later, Tim pulled into the parking lot at school in his car, an old 1952 Ford Mainline. It was badly rusted, the transmission needed to be shoved into gear, but it got him from place to place, and he didn't have to be ferried around like a pansy.

The prom meeting on Monday was the Christine Weston Show, since she talked about her plans so much she took up the entire meeting. He didn't miss the relieved look Anne had on her face when the meeting got out. He also didn't miss how she tried to sidle up to Michael and ask him a question about one of their classes. He'd ignored her in favour of linking arms with Trudy and carrying on a conversation about who might ask her to prom. Anne had slunk away like a cat with its tail between its legs.

Tuesday morning he'd cornered Pete Malcolm in the bathroom between classes and rearranged his face a little. Wednesday morning Pete found him hanging out in the back parking lot and the kid handed over a bunch of the money he'd made selling the stolen cigarettes. By Wednesday afternoon he had his car back.

He hadn't seen Annie around school since Monday, which was fine with him. He had a sneaking suspicion she was trying to find some other way of making him plan everything with her, because it wasn't like her to be scarce.

He took it upon himself to start preparing for her eventual planning.

He found a few rolls of crepe paper at Spencer's Special, the discount store. Discounted or not, he walked out with them. He spent some time trying to figure out how they did under different circumstances. They went up in flames like dry kindling, and that might be a bit too dangerous. He wasn't aiming to add a murder rap to his sheet, and as much as the school bugged him, he didn't think about any of them much to care about murdering a bunch of folks.

What he did discover was the dye in the red and black crepe paper leeched out horribly when wet. His hands came away from the damp red crepe looking like he'd murdered someone. He scrubbed his hands with every soap in the house, including his mother's Camay, and it was only Boraxo that got the stains out.

It could certainly do some damage.

Tim parked his car in the back parking lot at school and got out. He headed towards a group of greasers gathered around the back doors.

"Well, well, well, lookit, the prom king's here," Two-Bit Mathews said.

Tim lit a cigarette and joined the group, despite Mathews. He had to tap dance in a play. Prom committee had nothing on that.

"I dunno, Tim," Two-Bit said seriously. "If I had half a brain I would've beat you to it. The musical might be full of some good looking chicks – bendy too, them girls doing all the cabaret scenes – but it's a hell of a lotta work. Can I bum a smoke?"

He smacked the cigarette pack against the palm of his hands to shake out a cigarette, and Mathews took one.

"I never saw the draw of prom committee 'til now, but I heard Brenda Matheson is on it. That Trudy chick too. She's a looker," Mathews said, lighting up.

"She's as dumb as a bag of hammers," Tim said.

"Saw Christine Weston too," Two-Bit said. "She ain't exactly a warm place to jerk off."

Tim allowed himself a small smile. No, any guy doing her would probably find his junk had shrivelled up and fallen off from the cold.

"What about that other chick? The one who hangs around Donna Newbury?" Steve Randle asked. "Donna's a nice girl."

"Donna'd eat you alive," Two-Bit said. "She's painting sets for the musical, an' if they'd let her run things instead of the drama teachers, we'd be a well-oiled machine. If they sent her over to Vietnam that shindig would be wrapped up in a week."

"Her friend seems pretty quiet," Randle said. "Can't remember her name."

"Annie," Tim supplied. "She's alright. Bit of a do-gooder."

"She's pretty far up Christine's ass," Two-Bit said. "They were in my math class last year, Anne hangs off of everything Christine says. Too bad for Anne."

Tim shook his head. "Good luck, Christine."

Tim got through the rest of his classes, then headed to Casing's office before Friday's prom meeting. He was pretty sure now that Casing was disappointed every time he checked in with him. That man was just waiting for a slip up, and he wasn't going to give it to him.

Annie was already sitting around the table with everyone else. He took his place without a word.

Christine began the meeting - she was already making a run at taking over just about everything Brenda should be doing - and when they got to Annie, she hemmed and hawed again.

"Really, Anne," Christine said. "If the two of you can't get your act together, then maybe you shouldn't be on prom committee."

"Not gonna get me out of it that easy," Tim said.

Christine shot him a look. "Well, maybe Mr. Casing won't be so eager to pass you if he knows you're not doing anything. It's been over a week since we asked you for your plans."

Annie looked like she was about to cry.

"I do plan to go out this weekend and start pricing things like crepe and balloons," she said lamely. "I think the colours should be like we said, black and white and silver, with a little bit of red for colour. We could maybe try to convince everyone to dress in those colours."

Brenda's eyebrows shot up past her bangs. "Girls have been shopping for their prom dresses since the beginning of the year, no one's going to run out and buy one in a special colour just because we say."

"The beginning of the year?" Annie asked, her voice almost a squeak.

"Don't you have a dress yet?" Trudy asked.

She shook her head, and Tim saw a tear slide down her cheek.

"Really, Anne?" Christine asked. "There's no time for tears. Just start planning something for goodness sake! By Monday I expect a full plan for decorations or else we're going to have to replace you. It's not that hard, and we're running out of time."

"Leave her alone," Tim said. "My fault more than hers."

Anne looked at him in surprise, and Christine regarded him coolly before looking to her left. "Michael, why don't you tell everyone what else we have planned?"

Tim sat through the rest of the meeting, bored, and beat it out of the room quickly to get to Casing. He was dreading the conversation with Annie, but the way she'd been staring at him, he knew it was coming.

XXXX

Tim was just leaving the office. She couldn't tell whether he knew she was behind him, but he picked up the pace enough that she had to walk double time to catch up to him.

"Thanks," she said.

He turned around, saw her and shrugged. "I told you once they don't think you're one of them."

Her shoulders slumped. She reached into her pocket, her hands sweaty, and felt the pack of cigarettes in there. She'd been sweating up a storm trying to get the guts to go into the convenience store and get them. Eventually she'd gone to a store far from her own neighbourhood, but she still couldn't do it. She offered someone a dollar to buy them for her, and felt better about not having to do it herself.

She had to admit they smelled nice in the pack, but she wasn't at all eager to try and smoke them. Donna had tried it once, stealing her mom's cigarettes, and she coughed up a storm and honest-to-gosh turned a shade of green Anne had never seen on a human being.

Tim walked down the hall a little faster, and she hurried to catch up with him. As soon as they were out the school doors and headed to the parking lot, she decided to go for it.

"I have something for you," she said. She hurried in front of him so he had to stop walking, and she took in a sharp breath when he stopped so close to her she could smell his cologne. She pulled the pack of Kools out of her pocket and held them out to him.

He looked at them, frowning. "What's this for?"

"I just felt bad for running out of your house the other day like I did," she said, her voice reedy and high. "I just wanted to say I was sorry. Donna said you probably didn't care, but I did."

She pressed the pack into his hand and turned, walking quickly up the street toward the bus stop. It had been a lousy day and all she wanted to do was go home and figure out how to salvage her prom sub-committee, even if she had to do it all alone.

XXXX

Tim stared at the pack of cigarettes in his hand for a good, long minute, feeling the uncontrollable urge to laugh. Well, she was trying to speak his language and that was something. He wondered how long it took her to get them.

She was a nice kid, if a bit of a dolt when it came to things like popularity and being liked. He wondered if this was the same thing, Annie trying to buy his favour, but he didn't think so. He believed her when she said she felt bad.

Good ol' Donna was right too – he didn't care that Annie had bolted out of his house. Expected it, really. This, he didn't expect.

He glanced up the street and saw her walking, probably to the bus stop. Her shoulders were down, and she looked like the very picture of walking depression.

He chuckled to himself and then went to his car and gunned the engine. He circled the block and pulled up behind her.

"Get in," he said.

She looked over at him in surprise.

"I'm not asking again, Annie," he said.

She hesitated for a second, then pulled the door handle and got in the car. He pulled away from the curb at his usual breakneck speed, and she grabbed the dash board, quickly moving to put her seat belt on.

"Forgot to mention that," he said with a grin.

"That was such a disaster in there," she sighed. "Thanks for trying to stand up for me."

He glanced over at her. She was fiddling with the hem of her skirt.

"Annie, why do you want to be in with those kids?" he asked her.

"Because," she said. "I'm tired of it. I'm tired of being stuck in the middle, not getting invited to the parties, but hearing everybody talk about them at school the next day. Your greaser friends don't talk to us, you know. No one invites us anywhere. All I do is hang out with Donna and Marjorie, and sometimes one of the boys from my math class, although he isn't exactly good at talking, he's so shy. Your kind doesn't invite us anywhere and neither do the Socs. Heck, neither do most of the other middle class kids. The Socs don't even talk to us unless they want something. I mean, I know that, I'm not completely blind!"

She was frowning again, looking out the window at the scenery flying by.

"Maybe 'us' is the wrong word. It's me that doesn't get invited," she said. "Donna's got friends everywhere. She can blend in with anyone. I know she hangs out with some of the greasers, but I'm not included. I don't fit anywhere, and I don't know why."

"You got your own friends," Tim pointed out. "Like Donna, and that chick you mentioned in the musical."

"Marjorie," she supplied. "Yeah, I know. And they're great, they really are. I just want to be a part of everything. Can you imagine what it'd be like to be on Homecoming Court or Prom Court?"

His lips twitched. "Annie, only court I got experience in is the legal kind."

She surprised him by laughing. "Even so. Y'all act like you don't care about it, so maybe you really don't understand."

"We don't care about it, I can confirm that," he said. "Only way a greaser's gonna be prom king is if it's a joke at our expense. I can't care about shit like that."

She flinched a little at the profanity. "I wish I didn't. I wish I was content with what I've got, but I'm not. I want to have what Christine has. I want - "

"To be a conceited bitch?" Tim supplied. "Sorry, kid, but I don't think it's in your blood."

"I knew you wouldn't understand."

"Doesn't have to do with understanding, I understand just fine," he said. "They got what you want. Fact is, Annie, you're never gonna get it. Because a lot of it is money, and I doubt your fortunes will change that much. The other part of it is just plain meanness. You don't got a mean bone in your body."

She was watching him, and he didn't want to look over at her for fear of seeing tears.

"Brenda's not mean," she said.

"Not in the same way as Christine. But you watch her. She gets her digs in just as good. Somehow, I think they might hurt more from someone you don't expect," he said. "Christine's known for dishing it out. Brenda ain't. It's gonna cut more from her."

"Do the girls you know do things like that?" she asked.

He thought it over for a second. "Not quite the same. I think our girls are more direct. They don't like you, they tell you. Ain't as many games. Girls like Christine are cold about it, calculating, it's all head games. Girls I know ... they get angry. It's all out in the open."

"Maybe I'd like that better. I don't know," she sighed. "I just can't go on hidden in the corners like this."

He thought about it for a second and then decided he'd do it. "Maybe you ought to see how the other half lives."

"Depends on which half," she said seriously. She fiddled with the strap on her books. "I'm in too deep to bail out on prom committee now. I can't let the school down and quit, that wouldn't be fair."

"I got some ideas," he said. He turned his car from South Harvard onto East 3rd and sped through the residential area to South Columbia.

"You do?" she asked hopefully. He turned north, then a quick left onto East 2nd. He pulled up in front of her house, slamming on the brakes.

"Wh- wait, how did you know where I lived?" she asked.

He looked over at her with a smile. "I know where all the good looking girls live."

She laughed at that. "You sound like Jimmy Lewis."

"Where'd you think I got your address? Be ready at seven."

"For what?" she asked, looking at him in surprise.

"I'm picking you up," he said. "I said you ought to learn how the other half lives. We'll go somewhere, talk about them decorations you got your head in a twist over."

"Really?" she asked, smiling widely. "You mean it?"

He nodded. "Seven."

"Okay, I'll be ready. Wait!" she said. "What should I wear?"

He looked at her plaid skirt and blouse, a sweater over top. She'd stick out like a sore thumb, but he had never seen her in anything else.

"You got jeans?" he asked.

"Blue jeans? Well, I guess so."

"Wear those."

She stepped out of the car and onto the curb, and he took off.

XXXX

Anne asked her mother about going out the minute she got inside.

"Where's this boy taking you?" she asked. "I'm not sure I want you going out in a strange boy's car without us meeting him."

"Oh, he's awful shy," she said, thinking that a little fib didn't matter. Tim wasn't exactly shy, just kind of quiet. And intimidating. "It's not a date or anything like that, we're going to work on prom. We'll probably go to a diner or a hamburger place."

"I'd still like to meet him."

"Oh, let's not scare him off just yet," her father said amiably. "And it is a Friday night. If you're home by eleven, I think that'll be alright."

"Oh, thank you!" she said, hugging her father around the neck from behind. "You're the ultimate."

She ate her dinner, then went to find a pair of jeans. She had a couple pair, but she couldn't wear them to school, and in general she preferred skirts.

Maybe he was going to take her to Jay's or The Dingo. She'd heard some hair-raising things about that place, and it was not a place she was going to tell her parents about. She had seen girls hanging around it before though, and many of them did wear jeans.

She looked through her closet and found a skirt that she liked better. She picked out a cotton sleeveless blouse to go with it and figured it looked casual enough he wouldn't mind about the jeans.

She walked over to her vanity and looked in the mirror. She took her hair out of its ponytail and combed it out, then put it back up again. It was becoming her trademark, and she figured it was casual enough of an invite to keep it in a ponytail. She put a little lipstick on too. The greaser girls she saw wore loads of eye makeup, but there was no way her parents would let her out of the house looking like that. The most she could get away with was a bit of mascara.

Why on earth was she fussing anyway? It wasn't like Tim was taking her on a date or anything. He probably had a girlfriend, although he hadn't mentioned anyone, and she hadn't seen him with a girl around school.

He was nice sometimes, despite the rough exterior. She figured the interior was probably just as rough, but he surprised her a few times doing or saying something nice, like standing up for her at the meeting and picking her up so she didn't have to take the bus.

He wasn't bad looking either. She'd overheard Trudy and Holly Ann talking one morning about how brooding he looked, with the dark hair and dark eyes. Sometimes his eyes looked black, but they were really a very dark blue. He didn't smile nearly enough, and his smiles were always weary looking, like he was amused for just a moment before it slipped away from him. Maybe it was hard for him to be happy. She didn't think she'd be a ray of sunshine either if she had to live with that stepfather.

He had chiselled cheek bones and nice, smooth skin too. Really, a bit of a dream. But somehow she knew that if his looks were on a Soc like Michael or Ken he'd have to beat the girls off with a stick. He wasn't sought after because he greased his hair, got arrested, drank, got in fights and smoked. She didn't understand how people thought it changed the way he looked, but somehow it did.

She looked at herself in the mirror. He was not her type, but there was something she liked about him, and a little part of her that wanted this to be a date. She cringed as that thought crossed her mind.

"Oh, I'm being silly," she murmured.

She scrubbed the lipstick off and put some Chapstick on, then reapplied the lipstick a moment later. Looking at her reflection one more time, she shook her head, then went into the living room to wait.

XXXX

Tim was glad to see she was ready to go when he pulled up. He could see her parents at the door, and he was glad it was dark enough out that they couldn't see him sitting in the driver's seat, clad in a leather jacket, his hair greased within an inch of its life and a cigarette smouldering in the ash tray. They'd have twin heart attacks and try and glue her bedroom door shut.

She came down the steps, and he noticed she was in a skirt. Probably not the best considering his advice, but it was her funeral. She also had a notebook and a pencil in her hands. He smiled grimly. The most he was going to get done tonight was a six pack.

"Hi," she said, opening the car door and getting in. She did her seat belt up right away and waved to her parents. He pulled away from the curb slowly, not wanting the father's first reaction to be to reach for the phone to call the cops.

"So where are we going?" she asked. "I thought that even though I threw out those colours in the meeting just to have something to say that they were a good idea. What do you think?"

"I think," he said, taking a drag of his cigarette and bracing the steering wheel with his knees, "that we ought have some fun before we get down to work."

He pushed the gas pedal down and shot through the residential streets, pulling up slower at the crossings and getting over to Peoria in record time. He turned left down the Ribbon and cruised for awhile, letting her chat on a mile a minute about different ideas.

He turned around at the shopping centre and headed back up the Ribbon. They passed Jay's, crowded on a Friday night, then passed The Dingo.

"Oh," she said, and he thought she sounded disappointed. "I thought that might be where we were going. Where _are_ we going?"

"A party," he said.

"A party?" Her nose was crinkled up, like the idea itself smelled bad. "How are we going to get any work done at a party?"

"Annie, honey," he said, grinning over at her slyly. "We're not."

XXXX

Tim headed up into the darkened streets of the North side. Anne wasn't quite sure where she was, but she thought they were near the steel fabricator her dad worked for.

Tim shot up the street he was on, then near the end of the street he took a left onto a gravel road. At the end was a white three storey building. Cars were parked all over the gravel, and she could see the hulking forms of freight trains nearby.

"What is this place?" she asked, already hearing the loud music coming from inside.

"Buck Merril's place," Tim said. "Throws a decent party on occasion."

She got out of the car slowly, leaving her notepad on the seat. With music that loud she wouldn't even be able to hear herself think.

There were kids outside in the makeshift parking lot, and she didn't know any of them. They all seemed to know Tim though, and everyone came over to him to say hi and shake his hand. She watched for a few minutes, kind of glad to have the opportunity and not be introduced right away - if at all. She was a bit intimidated of all the people.

She saw how everyone treated him and how he seemed to loosen up a little.

"Come on," he said, holding his hand out.

She took his hand, trying to mask her surprise, and he pulled her towards the cement porch. He opened the screen door and then the building door. The music had just switched to a slow song, and wasn't as assaulting on her ear drums as it could've been.

Straight ahead was a door propped up on two sawhorses, like a bar. The whole place looked like it was aiming to be a bar but hadn't quite got there yet. There were mismatched chairs and tables scattered around the room to her right. To her left it looked like there was a shell of a kitchen.

A man in a cowboy hat stood behind his makeshift bar, handing out beers to people and taking their money. There were all kinds of people inside - younger kids, mostly greasers, and some people probably in their twenties or so who must live or work in the area. There were a few older people, lots of cowboy hats and the women she saw made her feel self conscious.

Some of the greaser girls there were in skirts a lot shorter than they might wear in school. Some wore jeans, tight ones, and western shirts they tied up in the front, letting a little skin show. Most of them wore too much makeup, and they were all loud - laughing, cursing and drinking.

As Tim moved into the room, she watched as everyone got out of his way. He was pulling her through the throngs of people to a table that was near a picture window at the side.

As she passed through the crowd, someone grabbed her leg and squeezed.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, turning around. The man saw Tim was with her and put his hands up like he was surrendering.

"Told you to wear jeans," Tim said.

The table he took her to was crowded, but the people moved aside and soon there were two chairs waiting.

Anne sat down in shock. She looked over at Tim, who didn't seem at all surprised by the attention.

An older woman approached with a tray full of drinks. Tim hadn't said a word, and two were plunked down on the table, one in front of her and the other in front of him.

"Buck said he heard you were asking about the raid. Said he appreciates it," the woman said, nodding at the beers.

"Thanks, Irene."

"What raid?" Anne asked.

"Cops showed up here last week, hauled Buck in."

She looked around and figured Buck must be the cowboy serving drinks.

"What for?" she asked.

He gave her a little smile. "Might be they think he's running an illegal club."

"But it is."

She couldn't hear the laughter, but his smile was honest. Boy, she must sound like a total moron. Of course the police would come to break up a place like this. It wasn't like the cowboy was even hiding it.

She let her gaze roam around the room, taking in all the people, the music, the neon signs on the wall, and a hideous painting of dogs playing poker. When she looked back at Tim, he was watching her, a wry smile on his face.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothin'," he said, taking a drink of his beer. "Just look like you ended up in Sodom and Gomorrah and you got no idea how."

She smiled at him. "Oh, I have some idea."

The song changed up again and there was more hollering and hooting at it. She'd never been to such a raucous place.

She turned back to him a second later. "You're kind of like Christine and them."

"What?" he asked, genuinely laughing. His face was nice when he smiled.

"I mean, did you see those folks when we came in? Everybody stops to look at you and to say hi to you. They even cleared out of their chairs for you."

Tim leaned in to her. "Annie, they're just like piranhas, every one of them. They're afraid of me. Don't wanna be on my bad side. So, yeah, I guess you're right after all. Just like Christine."

She leaned back, looking at him with a frown. She was not afraid of Christine. A couple dancing around, drunk and sloppy, knocked into the table. Tim stood up and gave the guy a shove, and they backed away. Anne watched with horrified eyes.

Tim grinned at her again. "Annie, it's alright. Nothing's gonna happen."

A place like this, anything could happen. She paused when she saw some girls from school, ones she knew were friends of Christine's. They were hanging in a doorway that led to some stairs, talking to Jimmy Lewis. She shared a couple classes with him, and he was a ladies' man, alright. The boy snaked an arm around one of the girls, and she giggled.

"Now, I bet you anything, it's not gonna take much for her to go upstairs with him," Tim said, right into her ear. His breath was warm, and she felt her stomach flip over in spite of herself. "I also can bet you she won't say a damn word at school on Monday. They look down on us in the hallways and go down on us in the back seat of our cars."

Anne backed away from him, shocked. He put an arm on her shoulder and pulled her toward him again.

"You know it as well as I do. You wanna know why Holly Ann dropped out of the committee? It was because she thought I remembered her from here. She came in here one night, we had a few laughs, stuff happened. She didn't want me blabbing it to the world."

Anne leaned back and looked him in the eye. He wasn't lying. "Holly Ann Harris?"

"Like I said, Annie. They're okay to slum it with us, but they ain't gonna talk about it the next day."

She sat back in her chair and ran her finger along the condensation on the bottle of beer. She'd had beer before at a river bottom party she and Donna snuck to once. She had never needed one before, but she felt like she needed one now. She took a long drink.

Tim hadn't blabbed it to everyone. He could've made a comment or embarrassed Holly Ann or something, but he never did, yet Holly Ann still went running. She thought about what it would feel like to be Tim and have a girl pretend like nothing happened because of not being good enough. She looked over at Tim, her brow creased.

He laughed. "I can tell what you're thinking, and I don't need you feeling sorry for me. It happens."

"Well, I don't like it," she said. "It's not right."

He looked at her, a smile on his face, a real one this time. "Maybe you ain't a lost cause after all, Annie."

"Anne," she said, not trusting herself not to smile. "Why do you keep calling me Annie anyway?"

"Cuz it's your name," he said.

She laughed at him and shook her head. A song came on the jukebox that she recognized.

"Come on. You like to dance?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm not much of a dancer, Annie."

"Shoot, nobody's looking," she said.

He rolled his eyes, letting her know he didn't care who was looking and followed her to the center of the room. An Elvis song was playing on the jukebox – _It's Now or Never_ - and Tim snaked his hands around her waist, pulling her closer than he had any right to. She didn't fight it, and put her arms around his shoulders, pretty much just shuffling in place.

"Told you I'm not much of a dancer," he said.

"I like it," she said. "Never really dance with anyone though. I mean, I went to Winter Prom, and the only boy that asked me was Ernest. From math class. He had two left feet and stepped on mine so much I ended the dance early to get some punch. I spent the rest of it sitting at the table watching everyone else dance."

"You gonna go to this prom?" he asked.

She looked at him in shock. "Of course I am! Aren't you?"

"No one's asked you yet, far as I can see, Annie," he said. "And no, I wasn't planning on it. Going or asking you."

She looked at him, wondering what his game was. He mouth was quirked into a tiny smile – he was flirting with her. Well, that was something.

"Well, I wasn't planning on saying yes if you did ask me," she sassed back. "Fact is, I'm gonna go even if no one asks. I figure it'll look bad if a committee member doesn't go. You ought to come."

"I plan on it at some point that night."

She looked up at him, feeling sure he just said something dirty. He slid a hand down to her rear and squeezed. She backed away a little.

"Told you to wear jeans," he grinned.

She slapped his arm, sure he was just teasing her, and that part of her that liked him just a little was disappointed he wasn't flirting with her for real.

"Come on," he said, mirth in his eyes. "I'll get you another drink."

XXXX

"Oh, I just know I'm gonna walk into a wall or trip over something and wake the whole house up!" Annie said.

She wasn't drunk, just a bit tipsy, but he had a feeling she hadn't ever been in that state before.

He drove slowly through the streets, afraid of making her sick.

"You know, that was kinda fun," Annie sighed. "I mean, it wasn't like all those school dances I've been to, that's for sure. People just didn't care, grabbing each other all over, yourself included. Maybe most of 'em were too drunk notice all that was going on. My God, there were a lot of people our age there."

"Ain't so bad on the other side sometimes," he said, pulling in front of her house.

"You're teasing me again," she said. "Oh Jesus, I'm gonna have a hard time getting in there and not getting in trouble."

The light's were off inside, but the front porch light glowed in the dark, lighting up the front yard like a beacon.

"You said you'd help me with decorations," she said. "Did you mean it?"

Her head was lolling back in the seat, and her eyes looked hooded and sleepy. If he was honest with himself, she looked good enough to eat lying back against the seat the way she was, her sweater filled out just right and her lips the colour of ripe cherries. He tried to squash down the urge to kiss her. He couldn't get involved when he was planning to do all this shit.

"I said I'd help, I meant it." He rolled the window down and ashed his cigarette out the window. "We can go hunting up that shit tomorrow. But I ought to tell you I already got a lead on cheap crepe paper if you were serious about that. I'm drawing the line at making roses though."

"I can do that sort of thing," she said. "It'll be fine. Where should we meet?"

"I'll pick you up at lunch," he said, flicking the last of his smoke out the window.

"You know," she said, flipping the mirror down and smoothing out her hair. "Turnabout is only fair play."

He raised an eyebrow at her. She turned to look at him, and the way the moonlight was hitting her face made him want to forget his rule about starting something.

"I was thinking you showed me yours, I'll show you mine."

He smiled at her seductively, and she blushed as she realized how her words sounded.

"That's not what I meant," she said. "I meant that -"

"I know what you meant," he said. He mentally said fuck it and reached up, running his hand along her shoulder and pulling her towards him. She looked startled for a moment, then leaned in.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and he kissed her softly, not sure how far he could push it with a girl like her. She kissed him back, tentatively, and he deepened his kissed, moving his fingers through her hair. A second later she broke the kiss and sat back, looking at him with round eyes.

"Pick you up at lunch," he said, knowing pushing any further would get him slapped in the face.

She looked at him, like she was thinking of saying something, but thought better of it. She smiled a little, fished around the seat for her notebook and gave up looking for her pencil. She got out of the car and shut the door as quietly as she could.

He drove away and aimed to head back to Buck's. Eleven-twenty was way too early on a Friday night.

* * *

**A/N:** Making out with Anne. Smart idea or totally stupid? 17-year-old Tim can't say just yet lol.**  
**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.

**Author's Note: **A little A-Team shout out in this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 8**

_**Saturday, March 27, 1965**_

Tim showed up at Anne's house just after noon on Saturday, and she was waiting at the curb.

"I think next time you pick me up they're going to insist on meeting you," she said. She had all of her notebooks with her again. She climbed into the car.

"Yeah?" he asked. "You prepared for that?"

She looked over at him, as if to judge whether he was serious in asking her.

"If you mean do I care if they meet you, then no, I don't," she said. "I just thought you might mind meeting them."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "I dunno."

He grinned, mostly to himself. "You mean you don't think I'd wanna play nice for the parents? I tell you Annie, I ain't gonna show up dressed like Jeffrey, if that's what you mean. Gonna walk in there same as I would at school or something."

"I know you would."

He looked over at her, and her posture was relaxed. She wasn't lying. He wondered about her. She seemed to think an awful lot of the good in people. There was nothing stopping him from making life a living hell meeting with her parents, but what would that serve? It wouldn't get him anything but grief.

Most people thought the leather, the hair grease, the police record all added up to someone that was going to tell everyone they came across to fuck off. It was easier to just pay them no mind. Get past it all as easy as you can and save the fuck off for the right people.

He liked that Annie seemed to understand that.

"Where are we goin'?" he asked.

"East 11th, near the university," she said. "I hope you didn't eat yet."

He didn't want to tell her the only chance of breakfast at his house was if the milk wasn't sour and Curly hadn't eaten all the cereal.

He got down to 11th and she directed him to a little diner tucked away in a strip mall. Hamburger Heaven was painted all kinds of pastel colours and didn't look like much from the outside.

"Come on," she said. "It's a bit of a riot."

He got out of the car and looked at the candy-coloured place and shook his head. Payback was a bitch.

Inside the place looked just like a soda fountain. The waitresses wore poodle skirts, even though they were pretty out of fashion now. The whole place was a little out of fashion.

Annie snagged a booth by the jukebox, with a window that looked out the side. There were a few cars parked out there for car service.

"Hey, Anne. Hi Tim."

He looked up and saw good ol' Donna standing there, wearing her poodle skirt and a blouse and holding a notepad.

"Donna works here," Annie said. She turned to her friend. "Tim's gonna help figure out some prom stuff."

Donna was looking at him with unabashed sympathy.

"Don't look so grim, it ain't the gallows," he said.

"My brothers heard about it," she said. "Older one said he'd up and die if he had to do it. I guess the only boys that could get away with it are the Socs. Although I don't know why they even bother."

"Only way to get prom king," Tim said.

"Or the prom queen," Donna said pointedly. She was a sharp one. "What'll you guys have?"

"Despite the name of this place, I never order the Captain Bellybuster burgers," Annie told him. "The breakfasts are the ultimate though. I'll have the two egg special."

Tim looked over the menu and was glad he drank for free at Buck's the night before. He'd met Carolyn West when he'd gone back there, and she'd spent the night with him in an upstairs room Buck was in the middle of fixing up. She was a nice girl, a North side greaser, and he knew she didn't have the best home life. Buck was going to make a fortune if he fixed all those rooms up and rented them out. He tried to help Carolyn out when he could, get a motel room downtown or make Curly sleep on the couch so she could crash at his house with him, and not just for the sex.

Buck hadn't charged him for the room last night, so Tim ordered the steak and eggs.

"So ... " Annie said after Donna left with their orders. "Can we really, truly plan something?"

"Crepe paper. How much? I can score you as much as you need, any colour."

"You can?"

"I know somebody," he lied. "Won't cost a thing."

"That'll make Christine happy. I don't know if you heard her at the meeting, but she wants to buy new crowns and a sceptre for the prom queen."

Tim's mouth twitched involuntarily. "Figures."

"Balloons are a must," she said. "Maybe we can price them out after this?"

Tim nodded. "You can talk to the theatre people. I know Christine said she did, but do it yourself. Ask your friend. I don't trust Christine as far as I can throw her, and I'll bet you dollars to doughnuts she didn't ask them a thing about using the sets and props from the musical."

Anne's expression changed, and she was staring at him in shock. "She wouldn't do that. It could ruin things if we don't have it all decorated nice. She wouldn't risk it."

"Don't underestimate her, Annie."

Donna brought their food a few minutes later, and they put planning aside to eat. Aside from the decor and the old music on the jukebox, the place wasn't half bad. It wasn't filled with Socs at least, and most of the kids that came in seemed to be Annie and Donna's kind, middle class kids. He got a few looks, but nobody said anything to him, and he didn't feel the need to stare anyone down. He was a little confused about why Annie was so eager to get away from a place she could blend into. Having the crowds part when you showed up at Buck's or the Dingo was okay sometimes, but it meant he was always the first one the cops came to, always in the line up, always questioned. People remembered him, and sometimes, that was bad.

"I'm just gonna powder my nose before we go," Annie said. "If Donna comes by, I'm leaving my share of the check on the table here."

Tim watched her, noting the money she'd left on the table. He swept it into his hand and pocketed it, pulling out a few bills to cover the whole thing. If she wanted to pay her own way, he'd let her.

He wondered if she even remembered kissing him last night. She hadn't said a word about it, and that was unexpected for a talker like her.

A second later his thoughts were interrupted as Donna slid into Annie's seat.

He said nothing, just lit a cigarette.

"I need you to do me a favour," Donna said.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Yeah? What's that?"

"Just keep an eye on her," Donna said. "She's so caught up in getting in with Christine and Michael, I just don't want her getting her feelings hurt."

"She's a big girl, Donna."

"I know that, but she gets her feelings hurt so easily," Donna sighed. "Michael knows she had a crush on him, and Christine knows Anne wants to be in her crowd, and she cuts her something awful. She's always making little remarks to her friends. I have a couple classes with her, and Anne's just the butt of their jokes. I tried to warn her, but she won't listen. She's so sure this committee's going to get her a ticket straight to the in-crowd."

"Can't say I blame you for thinking they aren't worth it," Tim said, ashing his cigarette in an ashtray. "Christine ain't exactly in my good books."

"I wouldn't think any of them were."

"Dunno what I can do though. She's got her own ideas. Maybe she needs to get hurt a little so she can learn not to fling herself at the wrong people."

Donna made a face. "Just do what you can. She likes you. I think she'll listen to you. Like it or not, you kind of have the same position among the greasers that Christine and Michael do with the Socs."

Donna got up from the table, taking the money and the bill. Tim looked out the window - that was the second time he'd heard that in the last twenty four hours. He probably _was_ the closest thing to a leader, but not for all the greasers. There were lines drawn just as much between the greasers as there were between the Socs and greasers.

Annie skipped back to the table. "I know a store we can go to for the balloons."

Tim nodded and got up and moved to the door. He caught Donna's eye as they left, and she looked like she was trying to beg him with her eyes. He looked over at Annie, talking a mile a minute, and didn't think anything he could say would convince her she was good right where she was. The kid wanted the big times and there was nothing he could do about that.

XXXX

Anne was happy work was finally getting done. It wasn't much, but at least come Monday she'd have a lot to tell the prom committee. Christine couldn't possibly be upset with her this time.

The bell tinkled above the door when they walked in, and she didn't miss the look the owner gave Tim when he walked in behind her. They wandered around the discount store, which had helium tanks up front for filling balloons.

Annie knew this was the same place they'd used for Winter Prom, so she knew they could do the balloons.

"I'll ask about the balloons. See if there's anything else here that might work out for us," Anne said.

"Like what?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. We'll need decorations for all the tables. See how much white table cloths are. And maybe some confetti or something."

Anne went up to the counter and asked about the balloons, writing down all the information on cost and taking a look at all the colour options. She finally decided they would need to take a closer look at the gym after all.

"Until we know how many tickets we can sell and how many tables are going in, I don't know what kind of space we'll have. We'll need something to weigh them down."

"We can take care of that but it's a bit extra," the owner said, scratching his bald head. "We can group and weight them down. How are you going to transport them?"

"Oh," Anne faltered. "I never thought of that."

"How about we buy a couple tanks of helium off you? We can do all the blowing up ourselves," Tim said.

The man was eyeing Tim warily.

"Look, what else are we gonna use it for?" he asked. "Helium don't have many other uses, right?"

The man nodded. "I guess I could part with a tank. You'd only need one, it'll fill up more than enough balloons."

"That way we just move the tank and the supplies. Do everything on site," Tim said.

Anne was looking at him. "Are you sure you haven't done this before?"

"We'll need the tank for the day before the prom," Tim said, nodding at her.

She looked over at the owner. "Prom is May the eighth, we can pick it up the day before. I can bring a deposit as soon as the prom committee approves it."

The man agreed, and Anne walked out of the store feeling happy for the first time.

"There's another place down the way that might have some good things too," she said. "Did you see anything we could use?"

Tim dug around in his jacket and came out with a bag of black and white confetti and a role of crepe paper.

"Where on earth did you get that?" she asked, her eyes widening. "You- you didn't steal it?"

"'Course I did," he said easily, walking ahead of her down the street. She hurried to catch up.

"You have to take it back!"

"Take it back? You gotta be kidding me, Annie."

"Well, at least pay for it! How much was it?"

"Annie, stop worrying. I do it all the time."

"That's why people think you're a hood," she said crossly.

He stopped walking and turned around, giving her a look. "Annie, honey ... I am a hood."

She looked at him, unsure what to do. If she walked back in there to pay for it, there was a good chance the owner wouldn't agree to sell them anything. It was the best store in town for getting good party supplies, and with all the proms going on at the same time, she didn't want to risk being refused service.

She sighed. He had worked her right into a corner on this, and she didn't like it.

She followed him down the street, trying to figure out a way around this all, but it didn't seem like there was one.

She caught up to Tim at the crosswalk, and they walked to the next block, past a bunch of dress shops and clothing stores. She was helping her mother make her own dress now, and she looked with envy at the dresses for prom in the windows of the stores. Ever since the girls had mentioned that people had shopped months before, she was completely worried about her own dress. It was a pale off-white, and she hoped it would be in fashion enough.

As they approached Lucille's, a dress shop all the girls swore by, she spotted two sophomores, Cherry Valance and Marcia Evans, coming out the door laden with packages.

"Oh no," she murmured.

Tim looked over at her, and she stared at the ground.

"Embarrassed to be seen with me?" he asked.

She didn't answer, too busy watching the girls and hoping they'd turn and walk the other way. Instead, they turned towards her, and she saw that Cherry had spotted her. She smiled half-heartedly, watching Cherry's face as she noticed Tim beside her.

"Hi, Anne," Marcia said. "Out shopping?"

"Uh, yeah. Prom committee stuff."

Cherry looked over at Tim again, probably realizing all the rumours about him being on the prom committee were true. Anne relaxed a little.

"Christine says it's coming along nicely. I hope I get asked to go," Marcia said. As a sophomore, she could only come as the date of a junior or senior.

"It is, thanks," she said. "Anyway, I'm real busy, I should go."

The girls said goodbye and continued down the street. Anne looked after them, worried.

"Afraid you just sullied your reputation?" Tim asked.

"That's not it and you know it," Anne said angrily. "I mean, they know you're on the prom committee. I wasn't thinking badly of you."

"You just accused me of being a thiefing hood."

"You are a thiefing hood, it's not exactly a baseless accusation," she said.

Tim grinned at her.

"Stop it," she said. "It isn't funny. None of this is funny."

She wiped at the tears that had fallen. Tim looked like his patience with her was wearing thin.

"Annie, you got a good friend in Donna, why do you give a shit about those girls anyhow?" he asked. "They're sophomores, and they still look down their nose at you. It wasn't just because you were with me, either. Tell me it would've been different if you were alone or with Donna."

She looked at the pavement, swimming in front of her eyes.

"I get it. You said it wasn't me, but you think maybe they wouldn't look down their noses so much if you were on your own, not hanging around with me?" he asked. "You know they get why you are, but you still wonder. When are you ever gonna get it into your head that there's nothing you can do to win them over?"

"I wanna go home," Anne said. "I don't want to do anymore shopping or planning."

He stood on the street for a minute, watching her cry, then started walking back up the street towards his car.

She followed reluctantly a few seconds later. By the time she'd caught up to him, she'd dried her tears.

They got in the car, and he drove in silence. When he got to her house, she hesitated in getting out of the car.

"Have you ever wanted to be a part of something so bad you'd do just about anything to be a part of it?"

"Nope."

"Maybe you don't because it's the other way around for you. Everybody, all the boys you know, they want to be part of your gang," Anne said. "I see how they all hang around you at school, standing up for you and getting in fights for you, things like that. They're just like me. Wanting to be a part of it."

She started to cry again.

"Only, I don't know how to do it," she sniffed. "I don't know how to be the thing that'll catch the attention of the leader, you get it?"

"Not everyone catches my attention," he said. "Some people who don't, it's because I know they'd never fit. You see that skinny guy who picked me up hitchhiking a couple weeks ago?"

She nodded.

"He's been hanging around me and the gang for years. I think by now he knows it ain't in the cards for him. His younger brother's in the gang, though. Must burn him a bit, I think. But I ain't about to let him in just to soothe his ego. He wouldn't fit with us."

"Why not?"

He looked over at her thoughtfully. "He's like you. Has a heart."

"Doesn't make him a bad person."

"No," Tim agreed. "Just a lousy gang member. You ain't a bad person either, Annie. But you'd make a lousy Soc."

* * *

**A/N:** Ah, Tim speaks the truth, does he not? Do you think Tim will help Donna out and try and convince Anne to stay away from the Socs? And Anne mentioned the next time her parents might want to meet him ... Tim and parents. How would that go? lol


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.

* * *

**Chapter 9**

_**Monday, March 29, 1965**_

Monday afternoon Tim checked in with Casing, then went to the meeting. Anne was already there, sitting in the chair with her notepad in front of her and looking like her best friend died. She barely acknowledged him when he sat down. He couldn't decide if she was angry or sad.

It may not have been fair to sandbag the kid over her reaction to the girls. He knew from watching Angela and her little hellcat friends that girls were another thing altogether when it came to social status. The littlest thing set those ones off, and whoever was in their sights – let's be honest, whoever Angela had in her sights – would know it the second the girls turned on her. After watching them talk for five minutes he was always mighty glad he wasn't a girl.

Brenda and Trudy gossiped about their weekend, and words like "party" and "everyone was there" drifted over to him. Tim watched Anne, whose eyes never left the page on her notebook. Two little lines creased the middle of her forehead as Brenda and Trudy talked, and he was reminded of a sad basset hound.

As much as Donna wanted her friend to wake up and smell the coffee, Annie Macdonald was determined to do what she wanted, and telling her how wrong she was wouldn't do a thing but make her cry.

Only now she looked like maybe she'd heard it after all, and she wasn't too happy about it all. He tried to catch her eye, but her downcast gaze only had room for her notebook.

"Alright, let's get things started," Christine said as she swished into the room like she owned it.

The sub-committees went over all of their planning and their roles. Christine finally got to them and asked Annie for a report.

Anne sat in her seat stone faced.

"What's going on?" Christine asked, looking from her to Tim.

"What's going on is I think Annie found out you never asked the theatre department about using the _Guys and Dolls_ props and sets after the play," Tim said.

He saw Annie's head lift. The others turned their gazes toward Christine.

"I went down there just now and turns out no one knew a thing about it. 'Course, now that they know, they're on board for helping out. I just think it's awful interesting you took on that little duty yourself ... or so you said. It's a good thing Annie had me check."

Anne looked shocked he was putting it all on her, but he wanted Christine to think Annie was wise to her. If she thought that she might lay off a bit, and he wouldn't have to stare at Annie's long face all the time.

"Well, it was a natural mistake, I must have thought I'd talked to them already, but maybe I just mentioned putting it on my to do list," Christine said.

He could tell even Annie didn't believe that load of horseshit.

"What else did you manage to come up with?" Christine asked, deftly changing the subject.

Annie glanced down at her page again. She wasn't going to help him out at all.

"Annie's got an order in for helium for the balloons. We'll get a count of how many we need after you get a total count of available tickets," Tim said. "And tables."

"Yeah, we really need to know, Christine," Trudy said. "Food kind of depends on it."

There was a chorus of murmured agreement. Christine was staring at him like she wanted to chop his head off. He could tell she was about to argue against him.

"Can't really shoot down everything we do, Christine," Tim said quietly. "Else there won't be no prom."

"I'll have the numbers by Friday," she said icily.

"We got plans for the tables, crepe paper we're getting a freebie on - " He saw Annie's gaze shoot over to him in alarm. "Things are going good on our end. Hardest part'll be setting it all up."

"We may need to find some other students to help," Brenda said. "Winter Prom committee tried to do it all themselves and everyone was up the whole night decorating and not a single committee member got to enjoy prom, they were so tired."

"We should look into volunteers for a clean up crew, too," Trudy said.

Tim smiled to himself. They were going to need one hell of a crew for that.

After the meeting let out, Annie caught up with him at the principal's office.

"You were pretty impressive in there," she said. "The way you shut down Christine. I think they may actually let us decorate this thing."

She walked with him through the hallways, heading for the side door.

"Is it true?" she asked.

"What, that she hadn't talked to the theatre department?" he asked. "I guess so from her response. Let's go find out for sure."

"W-what?" she asked. "You didn't already do it?"

He steered her towards the hallway that led to the auditorium.

"Nope," he said. "Shot in the dark."

"I can't believe you," she breathed. "What if you'd been wrong?"

"Then I'd be wrong."

He pushed open the doors to the auditorium.

Two-Bit Mathews was on-stage with the redhead that had pulled Jimmy down the hallway. Mathews wasn't dressed up or anything, but he was holding a script and looked like death when he spotted Tim in the auditorium. A blonde who could give Marilyn Monroe a run for her money was on-stage too, and he figured that was Jimmy's end run. He was surprised to see Sylvia Peterson nearby, a script in her hand as well. He hadn't pegged Sylvia for the musical type, but there it was.

"Let's take it from the top!" a shrill voice said.

"That's the drama teacher, Mrs. Barstow," Anne said, pointing to the woman giving direction at the front of the stage. Anne started down the aisle, and Tim took her by the arm.

"Let's just hold on for a second," Tim said. "I think I might wanna see this."

He slid into a seat midway down the aisle, and Annie frowned.

"What are you doing?" She crouched down next to him.

Tim ignored her and kept his eyes on the stage.

The teacher cued a girl with long, dark hair that reached the middle of her back, and she began to play the piano. He leaned forward, waiting for it.

It took all his control not to bust out laughing when Mathews started to sing with the redheaded girl.

He put his hand against his brow to shield his face and struggled to keep his composure. No one on God's green earth could give him a hard time about prom committee after seeing this.

"What's got into you?" Annie asked.

Tim shook his head, his shoulders shaking from silent laughter. "When do they start selling tickets for this thing?"

Annie gave him a look. "You're awful. I think Two-Bit sounds really good. I didn't know he could sing so nice."

He had a feeling Mathews was going to wish he'd kept it that way. He spotted Jimmy Lewis skulking behind one of the heavy curtains at the side of the stage, and from the way Marjorie was gesturing, Tim figured Jimmy'd seen him sit down and was avoiding his cue to be onstage.

"Let's take five," Marjorie said as Two-Bit faltered through the song, nerves getting the better of him. "Is that alright, Mrs. Barstow?"

"Alright, five minutes everyone."

The redhead dashed over to the wings, and he saw Jimmy do a disappearing act when he spotted her heading for him.

"Come on," Annie said. "Let's get this over with."

They walked down the aisle toward the drama teacher, who spotted them and frowned.

"Rehearsals are closed to the public," Mrs. Barstow.

"Well, we're here about something else," Annie said. She looked over at Tim with worried eyes, and he nodded at her.

"We're – I'm on prom committee," Annie said. "And our theme is a 1920s theme, and we're wondering if we could … I mean, what I mean is – "

"Has anyone been by to ask if we can use the sets for prom?" Tim broke in. At this rate Annie'd get around to asking her by next fall.

"No one has," Mrs. Barstow said. "Prom is May eighth, correct?"

Annie followed her over to a seat covered in scripts, and Barstow picked up a clipboard, took some notes, then said something to Annie that made her smile.

Tim glanced up at the stage. He saw Lewis dart around a corner, out of his view again. At least Lewis had some brains. Mathews was standing center stage, his face red.

"Don't you worry, Mathews," Tim said. "I'll make sure it's a full house."

"Shame you missed the cabaret scenes, they're really something else," Mathews said, trying to save face.

"I didn't think it was true." Sylvia was sitting on the edge of the stage, one leg crossed demurely over the other. "Dally said it was, but I didn't believe it."

"Believe what?"

"You on prom committee," she said, pulling out a tube of lipstick and a compact. "Mr. Casing must really hate you."

"Come on now, Syl," he said, walking over to her and leaning against the stage. He noticed Mathews watching them, agitated. He leaned close to Sylvia. "Be nice."

She slid off the stage and stood next to him. She was a pretty thing, hot tempered and full of fire, but there had never been anything there. They'd gone on one date, when she was thirteen years old, and they'd made out at the movies. They'd never gone out again, neither one of them knowing why. Maybe it was because she reminded him of Angela sometimes, all full of piss and vinegar. She was a nice girl, but there were hazard cones around her, and not just because of Dallas Winston.

"Dallas said you got something else goin'," Sylvia said. She looked up at him through her lashes. "Care to share?"

He smirked at her. "And have you run right to Dal? Nice try, Syl."

She rolled her eyes and turned to find the light while she touched up her lipstick.

Tim saw Anne thanking the teacher and nodded his goodbye toward Sylvia. He followed Annie up the aisle to the doors, and had to walk to catch up with her clipped stride.

"I can't believe her," Annie fumed as she burst into the hallway from the auditorium. "She really did lie! Mrs. Barstow is okay with us using the sets and props, but my gosh, what if you'd never thought of it? We would've been in so much hot water Friday night before prom trying to set things up with nothing! I can't believe her!"

Tim squashed the urge to say maybe it was time she opened her eyes. She had to open them on her own, and any encouragement he brought would probably look like he was pushing her too hard. It shouldn't matter to him that she wanted to be popular, be a Soc, but the fact was, Annie wasn't a Soc and shouldn't want to be one.

"I just can't believe it."

All the steam had gone out of Annie's voice, and she sighed and leaned against some lockers.

"I'll give you a ride," he offered.

She looked over at him and nodded her thanks. She followed him out to the parking lot and was silent most of the car ride.

"I wish Brenda was a junior," she sighed. "At least she wouldn't be pulling sneaky tricks like that."

No, Tim suspected her tricks would be even sneakier. Christine was sly about it, but her treatment of Annie was a bit more above board than Brenda would be. What Annie needed to do was forget them entirely. Maybe what she really needed was to let loose and see that the side of the tracks she was on weren't so bad.

"You wanna go to Buck's on the weekend?" he asked. "He's having a party."

She looked over at him as the car slowed in front of her house. "Are you asking me to plan stuff or are you ... asking me?"

"Yeah Annie, I'm asking you," he said. He couldn't resist teasing her. "'Sides, it'll be the only free time I've got to plan anything anyway."

She blushed a little, and Tim tried not to laugh. She hadn't mentioned a thing about the kiss they'd shared, in fact, she pretended like it had never happened. She probably had the same rose coloured dreams of dates most girls did, but Buck's was a little different and at least she knew it this time.

"Yeah, I'll go," she said. "But remember what I said? My parents are probably going to want to meet you."

He shrugged. He could spare five or ten minutes of his life for that, but he wasn't sure Annie would end up coming out the door with him at the end of it.

"I'll pick you up at seven on Saturday," he said. "It'll give me plenty of time to prepare."

"It's not gonna be that bad," she said. "My dad works at the steel plant up near Buck Merril's place."

That wasn't exactly a good thing. It meant her father probably knew of Buck and his place. That meant he wouldn't want his daughter within a hundred yards of it.

"I ain't gonna show up and swipe everything from your house, if that's what you're worried about," he said.

"I know you'll have your eyes on those Hummels, but hands off, buster." She stuck her tongue out at him as she got out of the car.

XXXX

Bill was waiting down at the railway tracks after he dropped Annie off.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Boys are getting eager to hear more about the plans for prom," Bill said. "Actually, so am I. You look a little cozy with that Anne chick. You sure you ain't distracted?"

"She's a nice kid," he said. He paused, then looked over at Bill. "Good kisser too."

Bill shoved him, grinning. "Figures."

"Got to figure some things out," Tim said. "First, how to keep everyone out of the parking lot so we have the privacy to work on the cars."

"Chain the doors shut? Lock 'em in?"

"Thought about it. I'm thinking I might have Annie bring up the possibility. Suggest they have one way in and out of the school, so people ain't sneaking off to drink. Chaperones and principal will be all over that. If we can keep the main inside doors to the gym open and the gym doors that lead outside locked, the closest exit there would be the front doors of the school. That keeps everyone at the farthest point from the back lot."

"What else you got?" Bill asked.

"I had Carl and Ray check on the sprinkler system. They can set it off from the boiler room," Tim said. "And I got these."

Tim went over to the truck of his car and popped it open, taking out the roles of crepe paper.

"Watch this." He dipped it in the puddle, watching as the colour bled off.

"Oh my God," Bill said, his voice thick with laughter. "You're gonna drown them, and Jesus Christ are they gonna be pissed when this lands on them."

"Serves 'em right," Tim said.

They walked down the railway tracks a little, and Tim lit up a cigarette.

"I want special attention to be paid to Casing's car," Tim said.

"You sure that's a good idea?" Bill asked. "He'll figure out it was you pretty easy."

"Figuring out it's me and proving it's me are two different things," Tim said. "I may have to show up at this shindig official-like. I just need to make sure he realizes I couldn't have done it alone. The fuzz won't be able to do a thing."

"I got an idea about that too," Bill mused. "Oh yeah, forgot to tell you, I have an angle on a warehouse. My uncle Bill, the one I'm named after, he's real sick, lives up in Ponca City. He owns a warehouse down here, used to be a manufacturing plant. He sold off half the building, sold the equipment out of the other half. It's been sitting like that a year now. It's downtown, close to the rail lines."

"We should take a trip up there," Tim said, wandering back to his car. "Talk to him. If we can get something kinda legal-like set up, cops wouldn't be able to do a thing about us being there. That'd burn O'Lafferty pretty good."

"We'll go tomorrow after you're outta class," Bill said. "Old man likes a shot of Scotch now and then. I think I'll grab a bottle of good stuff from the liquor store to soften him up."

"What's he got?"

"Cancer. Pretty bad," Bill admitted. "Probably ain't got more than a year. Don't think the building will be a problem though. He's got three ex-wives who're gonna fight over every penny he ever made, and I don't think Uncle Bill has a will. Should go into probate for the next half century."

Tim nodded. "Good deal. We'll take your car out there."

He reached his car, then his eyes widened in alarm. He stepped back and looked around it.

"Where the fuck are my hubs?"

Bill cracked up and whistled - a long, low whistle ending in a high note. Roth and Malcolm came out of the shadows, holding Tim's hub caps.

"They been practicing," Bill said. "Not bad, huh?"

He couldn't have been away from the car for more than a few minutes, and it wasn't out of his view at all the whole time. Tim was actually impressed for once in his life.

He shook his head. "Never would've believed it otherwise."

Carl went about putting the hub caps back on the car. "Bill said it'd be important to keep quiet and do things quick. People will be in and out of the school and the parking lot. We're all thinking dark clothes and shit. Man, this is gonna be a riot!"

It'd be a lot more than a riot if the boys were getting good at this. It could be a fucking windfall.

"Keep up working with them," Tim said. "Focus on getting in the cars - not my car, mind you."

Bill grinned. "Radios? Any custom additions like shifters, floor mats, things like that?"

"You got it," Tim said. He paused for a moment, not sure the idea in his head was a good one "See if you can talk to Randle. Find out how fast he is at pulling carburetors. They can fetch a lot if we can get enough. We might need to bring him in on this if he can keep his mouth shut."

"He's gonna want a cut," Bill said. "Can't see him working for free. And you know what telling Randle means."

"Yeah, yeah, he opens his fat mouth and Winston finds out. We can talk," Tim said. "Maybe a share of the take on each item Randle pulls, something like that. I'll deal with Dally."

Tim got into his car. He'd go home, get some rest, then deal with everything this week. He thought, with some strange realization, that he was actually looking forward to taking Annie to Buck's again - whether it was because he aimed to get her in a room upstairs or he thought it'd be fun to shock her with life on the wrong side of the tracks, he didn't know.

He started the car engine and pulled away. It was only when he was half way home he realized his floor mats were missing.

* * *

**A/N: **So Tim's taking Anne to Buck's ... legit date or ulterior motives?


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.

**Author's Note: **Chapter 2 of "Luck Be A Lady" by Artemis Rex has been posted, if you want to check out what's going on with Two-Bit and the school musical. and you do!

* * *

**Chapter 10**

_**Friday, April 2, 1965**_

Anne wasn't sure whether to be glad or not when Friday's meeting went well.

Tim had shown up with the items he'd stolen, claiming they were samples of what they were using. She'd held her breath, waiting for the accusations, but the committee had approved everything, and no one questioned where it had come from. Christine even cut them a check to pay for the deposit on the helium and to buy the balloons and crepe paper.

Anne wasn't sure what brought on this change in Tim. He wasn't eager, but he was helping her out some. She suggested ideas during the meeting, and he went along with just about everything she said. She even sketched out a plan where the tables could go after Christine finally gave them numbers, and every single one of them approved.

The prom would be a big one. Next year they wouldn't be able to have a joint junior/senior prom due to numbers. As it was, if people brought dates, there weren't enough tickets available for every junior and senior to come. Tim had told her she didn't have to worry, since none of the greasers would show, but that didn't really take care of numbers. She figured only about twenty percent of the students fell into the category of greasers that wouldn't be caught dead at prom.

She finished up all her homework Friday night, and thought about how to approach her parents about Tim's invitation. She knew they'd never let her go to Buck Merril's, and in some way she couldn't blame them. There was underage drinking, gambling and Lord knew what went on in the bedrooms.

She'd tell them she was going to the diner. She did that often enough with Donna and her friends, and a few times Ernest had asked her to go and her parents had been okay with it.

She didn't want to admit it to Tim, but she was a little worried about what her parents would think of him. She wasn't embarrassed of him or anything, but she didn't want her parents to treat him poorly just because he didn't grow up the same way she did.

She went downstairs for dinner Friday and chose her words carefully.

"Tim wants to go plan tomorrow night. I was thinking we'd go to the diner," she said. "If that's alright."

"Do you think he'll come to meet us first?" her mother asked. "You've been spending an awful lot of time with this boy, and I think it's only right."

"Bring him in before you go," her father said, winking at her.

"See, I know he'll be okay with meeting you and all," Anne said. "It's just I'm a little worried."

"Why's that?" her mother asked.

Maybe that wasn't the best choice of words. Her mother looked positively panicked.

"See, remember how I said he didn't have a nice house like this, and his family seemed a little ... well, not well off?" she said. "I just don't want him to be uncomfortable here."

"Well, I wasn't planning on chasing him around with a pick-axe just yet," her father joked.

"I know that," she said, grinning back. "I just ... I feel bad because I don't want him to think we're better than he is."

"Anne, it's very kind of you to think of that," her mother said. "But we treat everyone who comes into our home the same way, and we'll welcome him just like we do your other friends."

"Even if he isn't dressed so nicely? I mean, he doesn't have a lot of money," she faltered.

"Anne, I didn't grow up with a lot of money myself. Heck, sometimes we have to stretch things here from time to time," her father said. "He's welcome here. Don't worry your head about it."

She sighed in relief. She had such nice parents. She didn't have to worry like Tim did about the fact his father or stepfather took both a beer and a bourbon with him drinking. Her mother wasn't falling over from pain or something else. She didn't have any siblings willing to make fun of her. Sometimes things just weren't fair. Tim didn't seem to care, but it still made a difference.

XXXX

_**Saturday, April 3, 1965**_

He sat in his car at the curb, but when Annie came out, he knew what it meant. He cut the engine and got out of the car and met her at the porch.

She had let her hair down, and it fell around her shoulders in a honey-coloured sheaf, the ends curled. She looked all of her sixteen years instead of like a little kid, but it also made her look like a different person.

"My parents want to meet you," she said.

He'd met Carolyn's parents - a lazy stepfather and a harping mother - and neither of them gave him much notice. The other girls he'd been with had been either smart enough or ashamed enough to keep their parents out of the picture.

He sighed, the shrugged and followed Annie up the porch stairs.

Anne's house wasn't a mansion or nothing, just a small box-shaped one like his, but in far better condition. The front door opened into a living room, and there was a small dining room to the right and a kitchen straight ahead. Another door to the right must have led to the parents room since he remembered Anne saying something about that when they were at Buck's before.

A door to the left in the living room probably led to the other two bedrooms. He remembered Anne saying her mother taught piano in the front room.

Their furniture was worn, but comfortable, and he took in the collection of Hummels with a wry grin.

"Um, Tim, these are my parents, Harold and Doris Macdonald," Anne said, introducing them primly.

Her father looked like the kind of guy you could have a beer with. He was stout, with dark hair and eyes, a moustache and round face. He had a jovial smile, even after taking in Tim's leather jacket, and that was something. The mother was fair, like Anne, and wore an apron over her shirtwaist dress.

"Mom, dad, this is Tim Shepard," Anne said. "We're paired up together on the decorations committee."

"Nice to meet you, Tim," her mother said. "Would you like to sit down?"

He'd like to set himself on fire, but he didn't want them seeing the matches and pack of cigarettes on him.

He sat down on the edge of the couch.

"So, Tim, what made you join the prom committee?" Anne's mom asked.

He could feel Annie stiffen beside him, and he decided for shits and giggles to go with the truth.

"The principal made me do it. Sort of as punishment for cutting classes."

A sharp little elbow jammed into his side.

"Oh," her mother said. "I hope it didn't affect your studies."

"Tim's pretty smart," Annie volunteered. "He's a senior. I know he's in Brenda Matheson's trigonometry class."

"Brenda Matheson takes trigonometry?" her father asked, his greying eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. "I remember meeting her at the school play last year. Anne's part of the Usher Corp."

Anne was staring at the carpet.

"Brenda always struck me as a more ... artistic girl," her father said archly.

Artistic was a nice way to put. Stupid was another. He knew Brenda was barely passing trig.

"So, Tim, what are your plans for after graduation?" her mother asked.

"Haven't thought that far ahead," he said. "Going to have to find some work, I suppose. Either that or my stepfather'll kick me out. That's not really something I can abide with."

"Why's that? You don't want to get out on your own?"

Tim shrugged, then glanced over at Annie. "You'd have to know my family to understand it, ma'am."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Tim and I are going to work on some planning for prom," Annie said. "I thought we might go down to the diner."

"Oh, is Donna working tonight?" her mother asked.

Annie nodded. "I think so. It should be fine."

So little Annie was lying to her folks. He didn't think he could hold it against her, most people on the right side of the law would look at Buck's as a kind of hell on earth if they knew anything about it, especially for their darling daughters.

Before Buck had bought the old building he was fixing up, he had a house over on North Wheeling. Every time he held a party, the place got trashed. After the city condemned it, it didn't look like they'd have anywhere to hang out, but Buck seemed to have a bit of brains up there to see what having a place could be if he played it right.

If her father worked up on the North side, then there was a good chance he'd heard of Buck Merril, and no good could come from that.

He thought it was interesting Annie was offering up all the lies before she was asked a single question. He figured she was probably new at it.

"Should we get going?" she asked Tim, standing up. "I want to get a good table."

"Don't be late," her mother said. "We agreed to let you stay out until midnight, but I'd prefer it if you were home before that."

Annie nodded. "It'll mostly be a night of drinking too many malteds and trying to figure out how to make a gymnasium look pretty and romantic."

"Yeah, wish me luck," Tim said, no trace of sarcasm in his voice.

They went to the door and the parents waited there as he walked down the front walk with Annie. He could almost feeling their gazes burning into the back of his head. He unlocked the passenger door and opened it for her. That'd probably be enough chivalry to relax her parents. They hadn't grilled him like he was expecting, and he wanted to make a getaway before they changed their minds.

He started the engine and pulled away from the curb, and Annie was apologizing before they were down the street.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't know what to say," she said miserably. "I mean, they'd never let me go to a party like Buck Merril's if they were aware of what went on there. Saying we were going to the diner was just the best thing I could think of, because I know they won't check with Donna or anybody."

"It's alright, Annie," he said. "Didn't expect you'd tell them the truth."

"I thought you were gonna blow it in there," she admitted.

He glanced over at her – she was looking at him, a smile on her lips. "I thought I saw steam comin' out your ears."

"You really don't care what people think of you, do you?" she asked seriously.

He thought about it for a moment. "I like what I am, Annie. I ain't never gonna be some college boy, buffing his Mustang and swilling champagne at the country club. In fact, I'd put myself down if that were to happen."

"What about people like me?" she asked. "You don't wanna be like me either?"

"You mean, do I want a nice house and two parents and all that jazz?" he asked. "I had the two parents once upon a time. Things weren't much different than they are now."

"Why not?"

"Dad cut out a lot. Went places he shouldn't," Tim said, not wanting to elaborate. "My mother kicked him out. I was eleven. She was married a year and a half later to Hank. We didn't have any money when my dad was around, we don't have any now."

"What happened to your mother?"

He glanced over at her, then at the road. They were approaching The Ribbon.

"Fell down the porch stairs one winter, a couple years ago. Hurt her back real bad. Doc gave her some painkillers, and she takes 'em more often than not."

"Still?"

"She claims it still hurts. I think it hurts alright, only it's not her back bothering her," Tim said. "It's either Hank wailing on her or thoughts of everything that's happened the last ten years. Either way ... not much I can do about it."

She was staring at her hands, picking at a hangnail on her thumb

"You don't gotta feel sorry for me, Annie."

"Well, I can't help it!"

She had burst out with it so passionately, Tim honestly couldn't keep the laughter in. She was looking at him, hurt plain in her eyes.

"I'm not laughing at you, Annie," he said to her doubting eyes. "I really ain't. I just think it's a hoot you care so much. This is my lot in life. Some of it ain't too bad. Some of it isn't great. I suspect it's about the same for you."

"Not in the same way."

"No, likely not," he said. "But you ain't one of them rich kids lording it over us, neither. I said it before, Annie, you got a heart. I don't think you pity me. I don't think you look down because you think you're better. I think you feel guilty. You want everyone to have what you have."

She seemed surprised, and he knew he hit the nail on the head.

"I need you to do something tonight," he said.

"What's that?" she asked, wary.

"Loosen up a little," he said. "Forget about the Christines and Brendas in the world and have a good time."

She looked at him, then broke into a smile. "I think I can handle that."

XXXX

Buck's parking lot was crammed with cars and people. It was probably even more packed than it was the weekend before, and he figured Buck must've come out okay at the track earlier that day.

He walked in with Annie, who was dressed in a skirt yet again, and wandered up to the bar.

"Buck."

The cowboy nodded at him, and Tim could tell he was pretty well soused already. Buck wasn't much of a talker - more of a complainer - but when he got drunk he either got really talkative or really quiet. This was a quiet night.

"Get me a beer. Get her a rum and coke."

Buck raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Annie, but he didn't say anything. Annie was looking around the place, watching everything that was going on, and there was certainly a lot to look at. Couples slowed danced even though the song was fast, people were necking at their tables, and two guys in the back corner looked like they were about to start throwing punches. He saw Annie watching Jimmy Lewis, who was on his way upstairs with a blonde who looked too young to be heading anywhere with him.

Tim slid some change across the makeshift bar and Buck handed him over a beer - an Old Milwaukee, which he hated – then handed him the rum and Coke. He tapped Annie's shoulder and handed her the drink. She looked at it skeptically and then took a sip.

"Tim Shepard, are you trying to get me drunk?" she asked, her eyebrow arched up in a perfect curve.

"Gonna do my best," he said honestly.

He took her hand and weaved through the crowd with her, headed for his table. The air felt electric in Buck's tonight, and he was feeling good. Annie seemed to be okay with the people and the crowds, maybe used to it more than she was the first time around. She sat down at the table next to him, and he saw Carolyn West in the crowd looking at him with a frown.

"I'll be right back," he said. "Don't go nowhere."

"Wouldn't know where to go," Annie answered, sipping her drink.

Tim move through the crowd and caught up with Carolyn, who had just reached Buck's bar. He took her elbow and moved her into the hallway that led to Buck's back room.

"Who's she?" Carolyn asked, a petulant look on her face.

"Name's Annie," he said. "From school."

"She's a junior, huh?" Carolyn flipped her hair. "You slummin' Tim?"

"Now, now, let's be nice, Carrie," he said, leaning in.

"Carolyn, you ass." She glared up at him. "See if I ever talk to you again! Bringing her here after staying with me last weekend? This is why you have trouble getting laid, Tim."

He felt the urge to laugh - Carrie had a tongue on her and it wasn't always used for good.

"Be nice, Carrie," he said, knowing it would get her dander up even more. She was pretty when she was mad. She was never mad for too long, and the next time he came here without Annie on his arm, she'd be there waiting. She always was. Sometimes it made him sad for her - she was a pretty girl, and a nice one at that, but she needed someone who could be with her all the time. She was looking for a rescuer, and he wasn't that guy.

"Be nice?" she asked. "Tim, I mean it, I'm through with you!"

She tossed the remnants of her drink in Tim's face, and an ice cube hit him in the eye. He wiped his face down, laughing as she stalked away. He ducked into the john to rinse the booze out of his eyes.

XXXX

She didn't know where Tim had disappeared to, but Anne got up only once, to go pick some songs out of the jukebox. There wasn't the greatest selection - not a single Beatles song or anything - and most of it was cowboy music, like Jim Reeves and Buck Owens. She did manage to pick a couple she liked, including some Johnny Rivers, and made sure to put a slow one in there just in case.

When she turned around to go back to the table, there was a dark-haired boy in front of her, his brown eyes looking at her with interest.

"Don't remember seeing you here before," he said, moving closer to her.

"You probably haven't."

She ducked under the arm he was bracing on the jukebox and quickly got back to her seat. He didn't miss a beat and sat down, scooting his chair closer to hers.

"I'm Ray. Ray Roth."

"Anne," she said warily, not wanting to give him her last name. She was pretty sure he was one of the boys in Tim's gang, and a sophomore at Rogers.

She sipped her drink again, and the boy moved his chair closer to her.

"So what're you doing in a place like this? Doesn't look like your speed."

"What does?" she asked.

He looked a bit surprised she had questioned him.

"I dunno," he said. "The drive in, I'd say."

Fact was, she'd never been invited to the drive-in by a boy, and she and Donna had never gone in a car. It wasn't much fun when everyone else was in a car on dates.

"I know you from school," he said. "You're a junior, right?"

"Uh huh," she said, trying to glance around without looking obvious about it.

She tried to spot Tim, but couldn't see him through the crowds of people. A second later, another boy slid into the seat on her other side.

He looked about Tim's age and had white blond hair and hard, ice blue eyes. He leaned over, took her drink and took a sip from it. She tried not to recoil.

"Didn't think you'd be hitting the booze," he said. "You don't look the type."

She was a bit speechless. He grinned at her.

"What do you think Ray? Not the type?" he asked the other guy.

"I never seen her around here before," Ray said. "She goes to Rogers."

"Lucky her."

The boy slid closer to her, and he twisted a lock of her hair around his index finger. She resisted the urge to shrug away from him, knowing it would probably make him angry.

"I'm Dallas," he said. "You ever go to rodeos around here?"

"No," she said, her heart pounding in her ears. "Never been. I mean, I go to the fair each year, but that's about it. Not a rodeo. Not the kind of rodeos Tim said Buck Merril does, those things? But not the other rodeos either."

She was aware she was babbling, but he made her nervous.

He was looking at her with narrowed eyes. "You came here with Shepard?"

"That's right, Dally." Tim's voice was behind her. He clamped a hand down on Dallas's shoulder. "Get out of my chair. Ray, take off."

Ray gave him a look and then disappeared into the crowd. Dallas, however, wasn't so quick to leave.

"Who's your friend?" he asked.

Tim circled around and sat down in the chair Ray had vacated. She saw him hook his boot into the leg of her chair and move it closer to his, a move that could hardly go unnoticed by Dallas or anyone else who happened to be watching.

"What, you claiming your property, Shepard?" the blond asked. "You usually ain't so insecure."

"She doesn't need to be sitting next to that stench you call cologne," Tim said smoothly. "It might kill her. Where's Sylvia, anyway?"

"Grounded," Dallas groused. "Her old man found out she was seein' me again."

"Tough break." Tim lit a match. "Now fuck off."

"Touchy, touchy," Dallas said. "You gonna let him use that kinda language around you?"

Anne looked up at Dallas, unsure of whether she should reply.

"Don't pay any attention to him, his mother dropped him on his head a lot when he was a baby," Tim said. "You wanna get lost, Dally?"

"Nah, I like it here," Dallas said, leaning back in his chair and giving Tim a shark-like grin.

"I hear Sylvia's in the musical," Tim said. "Saw her rehearsing. Surprised you ain't watching her every move with all them guys hovering around her in this thing."

Dallas looked as black as a thundercloud. "Don't remind me."

Anne looked from Tim to Dallas, not sure what the deal was between these two. She couldn't decide if they were friends or enemies.

"She don't look like your speed," Dallas said, his narrow eyes studying Anne. "Lemme guess. Prom committee."

Anne looked over at Tim, who just shrugged.

"The whole damn lot of you are nuts," Dallas said, getting up and jostling the table with his leg. "Musicals, prom committees. I dunno what the hell happened to y'all, but you've lost your minds. Christ. You better have something else going, Shepard, else I'm gonna think you wanna be the prom king after all. I feel like the only one in Tulsa left with a set of balls. Jesus."

His leg jostled the table again and some of Anne's drink sloshed onto the table, soaking into the wood grain. Dallas left without so much as a goodbye.

"Friend of yours?" Anne asked.

"Depends on the day," Tim said. "Was he bothering you?"

"No more than your Ray was."

"They're both idiots," Tim said. "Don't take either one of 'em seriously."

Anne sipped her drink, wondering where Tim had gone off to before. He smoked his cigarette down, watching her as she drank. Her songs were playing on the jukebox finally, and when The Shangri-La's _Leader of the Pack_ came on, Tim's cigarette stopped part way to his mouth.

She hid her grin behind her glass and finished the last of her drink. Tim stubbed out his cigarette, a humourless smile on his face.

"Come on," she said, standing up. "Dance with me."

Tim rolled his eyes. "Annie, I ain't drunk enough."

"You weren't last weekend either," she said, looking down at him and holding out her hand. "Come on."

He paused for a second, then grabbed her hand and hauled himself up. He tightened his grasp on her hand and turned her back towards him, sliding an arm around her waist, the other slinking around to match it a moment later. He held her close to him and walked them both into the crowd.

She moved her hands up behind his neck, feeling the soft hair at the back of his head. She was surprised his hair didn't feel greasy or anything. They were barely moving, sandwiched together, other people pushing around them, trying to make room to dance themselves.

He leaned down, his lips fluttering near her ear.

"You like how the other half lives?"

She felt her stomach flip over again. He smelled good, and she remembered kissing him in his car and wanted to feel that again.

"It has its good parts," she said. She looked up at him, feeling a little lightheaded.

"You picked this song out on purpose, didn't you?" he asked, his breath hot in her ear.

She giggled. "Maybe a little. You are the leader of the pack after all, aren't you?"

The song ended a second later, replaced by some twangy country song. Tim led her back to the bar and got her another drink. She sat down on one of the bar stools, careful not to snag her sweater on the makeshift bar. The wood wasn't sanded and she figured people who weren't careful probably ended up with splinters.

She sipped her drink, joining Tim at a table watching two men arm wrestle. People put money down on the table betting, and the whole place seemed to get into it, cheering the two on. Tim came out of it a few bucks richer.

People danced, screamed, fought, sang, kissed, laughed and danced some more. She was losing track of time, but was still worried about getting home before her curfew.

"We should go," she said to Tim, falling into him as someone jostled her from behind. Tim's hands closed around her shoulders, bracing her. He slid his hands around her back. A shiver worked its way up her spine, and settled at the base of her neck. Tim's fingers were making slow circles on her back.

He stopped when she looked up at him through her lashes, then took her hand and led her outside, an arm steadying her. She got outside and took a few breaths of the cool night air, not realizing until then how hot it was inside. She shivered a little, then stumbled down the stairs, Tim hauling her up by her upper arms.

She wasn't sure when it hit her that she was drunk, but she didn't much care when she figured it out.

XXXX

Tim steered Annie toward the car, opened the passenger door and got her inside. He closed the door and headed around to the driver's side as fast as he could. She was probably going to be late for curfew, but he didn't care.

He knew he was a shit for getting her so drunk, but he didn't think three drinks would do it. Carolyn could hold her alcohol like nobody's business, and it never occurred to Tim that Annie might be different.

He slid into the driver's seat, and backed the car up, then had to manoeuvre his way through all of the cars until he was out of the throng. Sometimes you could get stuck at Buck's for hours waiting for someone to come and move their car. Tim cut the engine once he was out of the mass of cars, parking in a dark spot near the railway tracks, screened by some trees.

"What are you doing?" Annie said. "I live a little further away than that."

"I know," Tim told her. He reached out and brushed her bangs off her forehead. "I ain't taking you home yet."

"Oh."

Her exclamation was soft and quiet and full of promise.

"You look different with your hair down," he said.

"You don't like it?" She pursed her lips, and if he harboured any thoughts about taking her home, they flew right out the window.

"Didn't say that," he said softly. "I said you look different."

She was looking over at him, her eyes watery in the moonlight. He tilted her chin up and leaned in to kiss her.

She kissed him back with fervour, snaking her arms around his neck and leaning into him so much he was afraid she'd push him against his door, and that thing had a habit of coming loose. He didn't want to dump them both out of the car.

He deepened the kiss, tasting rum on her lips, then scooted her over to her side of the car. His hands, resting on her shoulders, slipped down, skimming over the soft material of her sweater, and against the skirt she was wearing. He rested his hand on her leg for a minute, but she either didn't notice or didn't care.

Her tongue darted between his lips, and he pressed her harder into the seat. He heard her moan in the back of her throat, then sucked on her bottom lip before breaking the kiss.

She leaned her forehead against his lips, then moved to look up at him. His lips skimmed the bridge of her nose, the tip of her nose, her top lip, her chin.

"Tim?" she asked, her voice little and hopeful.

"Hmm?"

"Kiss me again."

She didn't have to ask twice. He moved his hand down her leg, moving her skirt up her thigh, feeling her pantyhose underneath. He wanted to curse them - he hadn't run into a girl at Buck's with that kind of security guarding Fort Knox in a long time.

She moved his jacket off his shoulders, and he moved his hands from her leg long enough to shrug out of it before he slid his hands back around her waist. She leaned up into him her lips tracing his chin and neck, resting over his pulse. Her hands pawed at his t-shirt, and she struggled to lift it up and over his head.

She paused long enough to glance at him quickly, like she was embarrassed to even see him shirtless. He wondered if she'd been this far with any of the boys she mentioned - like that one in her math class.

She kissed him again, and he wanted to laugh at her. She seemed embarrassed, young and out of her element, yet she kept kissing him. He wasn't about to stop her if that's what she wanted.

He reached for the hem of her sweater, letting his fingers wind the fabric up, and she pulled away from him. He was about to curse himself for pushing too fast.

"Close your eyes," she said, her eyes glassy, her lips red and her cheeks blush pink.

"What?"

"Just close 'em," she said. "You'll make me self conscious otherwise."

He closed his eyes, just skimming his lashes shut enough that he could still peek out.

"You're cheating," she said, her voice light. "All the way closed."

He closed his eyes firmer this time, leaning back against the seat and smiling. He heard the soft rustling of fabric being pulled over her head and wanted desperately to open his eyes. She was making him miss some of the best parts.

"No peeking," she said. "You promise?"

"Yeah."

He kept his eyes shut, counting out the seconds, and when he heard a thump, his eyes flew open.

Annie was sprawled across the front seat, her head resting against the passenger door. Her sweater was in her hand and she wore her skirt, hose and bra.

"Annie?"

He shook her, and she barely moaned.

"Jesus Christ," he said, looking at her passed out form. Three drinks and she was a goner.

He sat there for a minute, not quite sure what to do other than laugh. He couldn't exactly take her upstairs to let her sleep it off at Buck's. The clock was creeping up on midnight, and she was supposed to be home.

He sighed, pulled his t-shirt back on reluctantly and looked at her again. Carolyn hadn't been kidding about him having a tough time getting laid.

He shook Annie again, but she didn't make a sound. He grabbed her shoulders, her skin warm, and pulled her towards him, letting her slump against his chest.

"I don't feel so good," she moaned.

"You gonna throw up?" he asked.

"Nuh uh," she said. "My head hurts."

She didn't seem to realize she was half naked, her breasts pushed up against him. He took a minute to watch her chest rise and fall with each breath, watching the lace tops of the cups tighten against her breasts with each inhale.

"Fuck," he swore softly.

He took her sweater, found the arm holes, and struggled to put the sweater back on her. He didn't want to get stopped by the cops with a half naked chick in the car, that was for sure.

He managed to get the shirt on, then cursed when he saw the tag on the outside. No matter. She groaned and moved her head, snuggling into his chest, and he tried to move his hands enough that he could get the keys in the ignition.

She slumped down as he drove, and he ended up with her head in his lap, but not the way he wanted.

He cut the engine in front of her house and thought about what to do. He eyed the swing on the porch. He got out of the car as quietly as possible and went to the passenger door. All the lights were off in her house, and that was the best thing possible.

He pulled Annie towards him. She was incoherent, and he hauled her out of the car. She was alert enough to help him as he walked her to the porch. He set her down on the porch swing, placed a blanket over her, then crept away quietly.

She was going to skin him alive when she saw him on Monday.

* * *

**A/N:** Haha, no sexxors for you, Timothy. The boy can't catch a break, but it's deserved since he got her drunk on purpose, yes? These upcoming chapters are some of the ones I had the most fun writing. Things not going well for Tim is just good times lol.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.

**Author's Note: **Some of my favourite stuff here – Tim back story! Thanks to everyone for the reviews - I haven't been able to reply personally like I'd like to, but I appreciate every single review.

* * *

**Chapter 11**

_**Monday, April 5, 1965**_

Monday afternoon, Annie looked like a thundercloud as they sat in their prom meeting. So far everyone was attacking the food committee, giving them grief, so Tim and Annie didn't have to worry about being questioned too much. He had a feeling he'd be questioned after the meeting was over, and he beat it out of the class room pretty quick.

He thought he'd managed to avoid her by the time he hit the parking lot, and he was shooting the breeze with a couple of the guys in the gang when Annie came striding out the doors and headed straight for him.

"I'll catch you guys later," Tim said, excusing himself from the group and heading to his car. Annie followed him through the parking lot.

"You stop right there!" she said. She looked around to see if anyone was watching before she started to talk. "I can't believe you! Do you know what happened? I woke up at four o'clock in the morning on my porch swing, sicker than a dog. I threw up in the begonias and had to sneak into the house, stubbed my toe on the couch and fell asleep in my bed with my clothes on. At least, most of them, my shirt was on inside out."

"I ain't got a lot of experience redressing women, I just usually take the clothes off," Tim said laconically.

Annie swatted him.

"How could you just leave me there!?"

"What did you want me to do, ring the doorbell?" he asked. "Did they find out?"

"No," Annie said, some of the fire going out of her. "I woke up again at nine sicker than a dog and got changed into pyjamas. I pretended I was coming down with the flu or something. I about burned my tongue when I held the thermometer up to the light bulb to make it look like I had a fever."

"No harm, no foul then," Tim said.

He started walking towards the building, hoping she'd give up and stop bothering him.

"Tim, wait."

He turned around again and saw Annie looking chagrined.

"Look, I don't remember bits of Saturday night, and, well, I was just sort of - "

He was struck by the panic in her face, and it set his teeth on edge. "Nothing happened."

He was irritated seeing the relief flood her face.

"Oh," she said. "Okay. Well."

"You don't gotta pretend you ain't thrilled about that," he said, unable to resist comment. He turned and walked to the door of his car.

"Tim, wait!"

She caught up with him. "It's not like that, it's just that, I've never done anything like that, especially not ... I mean, my shirt was inside out, what was I supposed to think?"

"I'd like to think you were decent enough to realize I was helping you out and not taking advantage."

"Oh, it wasn't taking advantage when you got me all those drinks?" she asked, her eyebrows shooting up under her bangs. "I didn't see you drinking any of them, you just stuck with beer all night. I was joking when I asked you if you were trying to get me drunk, now it seems like that's just what it was."

"To loosen you up. So you wouldn't have such a stick up your ass."

"Stick up my - you beat all," Annie said. "I was having fun, but just imagine what it was like for me waking up somewhere strange like I did."

"I could've taken you upstairs in Buck's and left you there. Or I could've made it with you in the car, even the way you were, slumped over the seats like a drunken lunatic," he said. "I didn't. I took you home. I even put your damn clothes back on, clothes_ you_ took off, I wanna add."

She frowned, and Tim wondered how much she remembered.

"It was a lousy thing to do giving me all those drinks."

"I didn't see you turning them down, sweetheart." He pulled out his car keys and circled back to his car. "Maybe you felt like you needed them to go slumming."

"Slumming?" she asked, looking like she'd been slapped. "That's not what I was doing."

"Yeah, well, I don't like bein' accused after I helped you out. 'Specially by you, of all people. Maybe you oughta come down off that high horse more permanent-like."

"You're just as lousy as everybody says," she said, her tears overflowing. "I thought you were nice under all this, and you just wanted to - to - to have a good time. I hate you!"

She turned around and stomped away from him. He smacked his steering wheel, then jammed the car into gear and tore out of the parking lot.

XXXX

Tim drove around the North side, then downtown. He and Bill still hadn't been to see his uncle, and right now, some kind of a hang out or hide out would've been the perfect place to go. Instead, he pulled his car into a parking lot downtown and wandered into a liquor store that was near the railway tracks.

He bought a bottle of Jim Beam and carried it back to his car in a paper bag.

He couldn't figure out why he was so edgy. So what if Annie thought the worst when she woke up on her porch, her clothes in disarray?

Maybe it bugged him because she _had_ thought the worst and for a girl like that to think it, one that saw the good in everything, it kind of burned him. If it was Michael bringing her home like that, she wouldn't have accused him of a thing.

He drove his car down to the alley near the tracks and took the bourbon with him as he walked through the dark rail area. He found a few milk crates abandoned in a tunnel and put them out near the shell of the burned out car. He cracked the top off the Jim Beam and took a sip.

It burned going down, and for a minute he thought he would retch. Somehow the stink of bourbon always reminded him of Hank, and he had no idea why he'd grabbed it off the shelf instead of something else.

This whole prom committee was a fucking disaster. It didn't matter what he did, what he organized, he was still stuck on a committee with a bunch of Socs willing to judge the ever loving fuck out of him and find him wanting.

None of that shit even matter. Casing didn't matter, the school didn't matter. He knew he was smart. He knew he would pass his classes and the final exams. He hadn't even planned on going to the graduation ceremony - his mother would probably be too stoned to show up, and Hank wouldn't bother. His big concern would be how to kick Tim out on his ass without his mother going to pieces.

He thought about his father, what it would be like to have him around. The old man might not even care either.

He took another drink. Somehow, he didn't think that was true. The old man had taken him along on his trips down state, but that was for a cover. But he'd take Tim to a ball field or an empty lot sometimes, toss around a baseball with him or let him shoot the rifle at thick stands of trees. A man didn't do that if he didn't want anything to do with you.

He got up one morning and the old man was gone. His mother, worrying over a cigarette and a glass of bourbon, her hair unwashed and a weariness in her face he'd never seen before, told him she supposed he'd be back to see them sometime.

Summer turned to fall, which turned to winter. Christmas morning the phone didn't even ring. Almost eight years later, Tim tried to believe the old man was dead somewhere, but he didn't think so. He was just too chicken shit to face them, too ashamed.

His old man was weak. He wasn't like him, wasn't going to fuck everyone over like him. Curly and Angel had paid a heavy price when Hank moved in, and for that matter, so had he. Hank would be out of their lives one day - how he didn't know - and then he could relax some. His only concern was whether his mother would be alive to see it, and if she was, could she take it?

The bourbon burned his throat again. He should've called Bill. He didn't think he could make it back to his car now, and if he did, he'd run it into a building before he got twenty feet back towards home.

The pavement was swimming, his head feeling unattached to his body, like one of Annie's damn balloons.

He leaned back against the shell of the car, steadying himself. Bill would've been a smart call to make. He looked out for him, those rare moments when Tim was out of his own head. They didn't come often.

Bill hadn't been from their neighbourhood. He lived in Tiber Street territory, far from his own world. It was the reformatory that had brought them together, the one good thing about that stinking shithole. He'd never admit how the place had fucked him up at thirteen.

He'd been escorted in by a court appointed dickhead, talking about all the great discipline Tim would get. Windows were packed with faces staring out at him as he was marched in, none of them with kind or sympathetic looks.

He'd been stuck in a dormitory with about twenty other boys, ranging in age from thirteen to fifteen. He was small for his age then, quite able to toss rocks, break out windows and damage police cars, able to hold his own in a fight in his own neighbourhood, but no match for a kid with several inches on him and a good twenty pounds.

He kept his head down, kept quiet, but none of that mattered when you were the new fish. Some things never changed, whether it was a reformatory for wayward boys or your first time walking into a cell at the Tulsa PD. Everyone wanted to fuck with you.

It would start innocently enough. Socks missing, shoes tossed in the garbage, drinks spilled in your lap, laughter in the cafeteria until the "teacher" - they were guards and every one of them knew it - separated you, chastising the victim more than not. They would be cleaning the hallways, rows of boys with mops, and you'd feel the handle in your back, jamming into your spine. Your head would hit a locker or the cement wall. You'd see stars, but try not to fall to your knees. Don't show weakness, don't show pain.

Don't retaliate. Retaliation got you solitary, and the horror stories coming out of there - men with hands that didn't mind searching for weapons a little too closely, thumps on the head that drew blood and left no scars. One boy came back with three missing teeth, and never said a word again after that.

So he kept his head down, didn't talk with them, didn't do a damn thing. None of it mattered. He was younger, he was smaller, he was newer. He was the target now.

It was a Thursday morning when he was cornered in an empty supply room. He was stowing the buckets, stacking the brooms and mops when the door shut. There were three boys, all older, staring down at him with blood in their eyes.

The taunts started, the name calling. One boy shoved him. He got angry, shoved back, and the others rushed him, pinning his arms. He could still hear their ringleader shouting "hold his arms down! Hold his arms down!"

They'd gone for his pants, twisting them off despite his best efforts at kicking at them.

"Little asshole's gonna get a fuckin' wakeup call!" their ringleader sneered. His eyes had startled Tim. His eyes had been crazed, off center, different from anything he'd ever seen. He'd never seen a psychopath before, but as he was living and breathing there was one looking at him, imagining what he was about to do, playing it across his eyes like a movie.

Tim only needed that moment to see in that boy's eyes to know he was in real trouble. He could pick out the moment that changed him, the moment the kid grabbed the broom handle, snapped it in two. The moment he reached out, trying to grab at Tim's underwear. He understood then what they meant to do.

His family put him here to straighten him out, Hank put him here, his mother crying not to, don't do it. Now he's in real trouble, and Hank's to blame, they're all to blame.

The anger hit him like a tidal wave. This was not happening. He kicked out at his attacker's face, hearing the broom handle clatter to the ground and seeing the spray of blood as he connected with his nose. The boy on his right had dropped his arm and Tim turned and punched him, as hard as he could.

The other boy dropped Tim's left arm and held his hands up, like he was at gunpoint. Tim didn't care if he was waving a white flag on Iwo Jima. He picked up the broken broom handle and smacked him across the face, feeling the satisfying crunch of broken bones.

His attacker had gotten up and was rushing him. He knocked the wind out of Tim, sending the broom handle against a metal radiator. Tim picked up the two foot length piece, jagged at one end, and slammed it against the kid's head.

He heard a voice asking if he needed help, but it came from far away.

Tim's would-be attacker fell back, stunned and Tim looked down at him. Tim was still in his underwear, feeling no fear, no shame, no embarrassment - just anger.

"You ain't touching no one," he said.

He raised his arms over head, the broom handle in his hands and jabbed the blunt end of the broom handle down on the kid's crotch, hearing him scream out in pain. Another jab - that one just for fun.

One of the kids behind him scrambled up, trying for the door, probably envisioning his fate. Tim clocked him in the knees, sending him onto the floor, a puddle of tears.

He grabbed his pants and quickly pulled them on, knowing the noise would attract the law.

He glanced to the door and saw a boy standing there.

"Was gonna step in," he said, his eyes round. "Guess I didn't have to."

Tim dropped the broom handle, it clattering to the ground. There was blood on his hands, his shirt.

"Tell 'em you did it all," the boy said. "Sick bastards. They love this kinda thing."

A moment later, there were adults swimming around them, Tim was pressed up against a wall, his face tasting cinder block. The other boy, the one standing in the door, was being questioned.

"No sir, he took 'em all on. No sir, I didn't have a hand in it."

Tim, thinking he was headed to solitary, found himself in his empty dorm, cuffed to his iron bed frame. The boy in the doorway was sent in a few minutes later, unshackled and unconcerned.

"Where you from?"

Tim looked over, not bothering to answer.

The boy laughed. "That was a good deal, no matter who you are. They really was gonna do it, huh?"

Tim turned his head, nodded quickly and went back to looking at the ceiling. His whole body had begun to shake, the adrenaline wearing off and the fear creeping in as quickly as fog moving over the river. He would not cry. He was not going to break. Not ever.

"You came out of it okay," the other kid said, his voice kind. "Can't say the same for Ronnie Pool. Ambulance picked him up. I heard them say they're gonna have to amputate one of his balls. No joke on that."

Tim allowed himself a small smile.

"There ya go," the other boy said. "Ain't so bad on the bright side, huh? I'm Bill."

Tim turned his head toward the boy, wondering how this kid walked around without supervision, without getting in trouble. Maybe someone worth knowing.

"I woulda stepped in," he said. "I swear it on my gramma. And I really like my gramma, so you can take that to the bank."

Tim had the unholy urge to laugh, but allowed himself a smile. His eyes weren't stinging anymore, the uncontrollable shaking was leaving him. His body felt like it was forged of steel.

"Tim Shepard," he said. "Nice to meet you, Bill."

A train whistle blew loudly, and Tim's eyes flew open. He wasn't sure if he'd fallen asleep or was just lost in a daydream, but the light had changed. It was darker now. He could hear rustling in the shadows, the sound of rats and mice scurrying amongst newspapers. He didn't like it down here when he felt this way.

His head was still swimming, the bottle of Jim Beam in his hands, half empty. Jesus Christ.

He got up, swaying on his feet, and waited until the earth felt solid again.

He started to move towards the alley he'd parked in, and when he was part way there, a figure emerged from the darkness. For a second his mind played tricks on him and he heard the clattering of a broom stick, the lock of a door, a tormentor's voice yelling for them to hold his arms.

He clutched the bottle of Jim Beam tighter.

"Can I have that? You done with that?" a man's voice said.

Tim's eyes swam and the bum's face got closer to him.

"Get lost, buddy," he said.

"If you ain't drinkin' it anymore, I'll take it off your hands, I really will."

The man grabbed for the bottle and Tim shoved at the man's arms, sending him flying into a pile of crates. The bourbon slipped from his hand and shattered on the pavement. No big loss considering how he felt.

He heard the man cursing him, then he was surprised the man charged him.

The air was knocked out of Tim's chest, and he struggled to breathe for a moment. The man's fist connected with the side of Tim's head and he saw stars. He bucked, his attacker losing his balance, and Tim scrambled to his feet at the same time the tramp did.

He saw the man reached for something, a pop bottle, and smash it along the wall. He saw the jagged end catch the light.

Tim reached for his switchblade, but couldn't get it out of his pocket in time. The man came at him, swinging, and Tim moved to one side, then the other. He felt the sharp glass catch his jacket and he turned away, the ripping sound angering him.

He stumbled over something, felt his boots slide on broken glass, and when the glass came down this time, he ducked just in time to avoid getting it in his eye. He felt the glass skim along his temple and down his cheek, then felt warmth on his face.

"Son of a bitch!" he cried out.

The blood was pouring down his face, and Tim, his head clearer now that he was in grave danger, lunged at the man. He grabbed him by one of his coats, bent the man's wrist back and got him in a choke hold.

The man twisted and turned, managed to get out of Tim's grip, and Tim felled him with a punch to the face. He kneed the man in the face, watching him fall back onto garbage in the alley.

He leaned over him, punching at the guy's head and face until he was almost exhausted with it. He stumbled back, his vision blurring.

Holy shit, what had he done?

The man was unrecognizable, bleeding all over the alley, his face a pulpy mess. Tim took a breath and felt blood dripping off his own face.

He stumbled towards his car, his hands slick on the door pull. He looked down and wiped the blood off with his jacket arm, not wanting to call any attention to himself.

He got in his car and looked in the mirror. His whole face was a river of blood. He dug around in the glove box, found a few napkins from The Dingo and tried to mop it off, but the blood kept coming. As soon as the cops found this guy, he'd be in deep shit. The guy was right in Shepard territory and all the cops knew it.

He started the engine, cursing. He couldn't go home, he couldn't go to Buck's, and he certainly couldn't go to a hospital. He rifled in the glove box again and found a box of butterfly bandages and some loose Band-Aids. He held the blood soaked napkins to his ruined face, feeling sick. A moment later he shrugged out of his jacket, then pulled off the sleeveless plaid shirt he was wearing over a long sleeve white shirt. He slipped the leather jacket back on, holding the plaid shirt to his face. The blood seeped through in seconds.

He needed someone to patch him up. Carolyn was probably at Buck's, but that'd be the first place the fuzz would look. He couldn't go home.

There was one place he could go, but he wasn't sure about the reception he'd get.

He started his car again, and headed across town.

* * *

**A/N:** Hmmm, where or where is Timmy off to? :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.

**Author's Note: **Adult themes in this chapter folks.

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**Chapter 12**

_**Tuesday, April 6, 1965**_

Anne was on the precipice of sleep when something caused her heart rate to jump and the blood to pound in her ears.

She sat still in her double bed, clutching the sheets around her, waiting to hear the sound again. Her stuffed rabbit Bun Bun had fallen off the bed, and she leaned over to pick him up. The clock read two in the morning, and she'd only been asleep for a few hours. She felt groggy and strange from being awakened. As she listened, her breathing slowed, her heart rate slowed, and right when she thought she'd dreamt the whole thing, she heard it again.

The window frame squeaked slightly, and she felt the cool breeze enter the room.

She swallowed hard as the curtain fluttered, and a hand appeared over the sill.

"Who's there?" she called out in a whisper. She would've yelled bloody murder for her mother and father, but something stopped her from doing it.

The hand left the sill and pushed the curtain back, and a dark figure hoisted itself through the window. She relaxed a little, recognizing the leather jacket when the moonlight hit it – she should have known. There was only one person she knew with the gall to do this.

"Tim, is that you?"

She heard a chuckle. "Yeah, it's me."

She felt a flood of relief when she heard his voice - at least she wasn't about to be attacked by some kind of sex pervert. The thought made her feel awful - she'd just about accused Tim of being one earlier in the day. She felt bad about it ever since he peeled out of the parking lot like a demon was on his heels.

She tossed the covers back and got out of bed, Bun Bun falling onto the floor again.

"Whatever you do, keep it down, my parents'll have fifty fits if they find you here," she told him.

Her heart was beating so loudly in her chest he must be able to hear it. She had no idea what he was up to, but something was wrong. The air was charged, and he was moving with difficulty.

He crossed over to the bed and sat down, and his figure stood out against the white sheets. The wind blew through the open window again, and she was aware all she was wearing was a cotton nightgown that was billowing in the slight breeze. She slid the window shut and paused when she saw a smudge of blood on the window frame.

"What're you doing here?" she asked, turning around to try and get a better look at him. The room was dark, and all she could make out was a vague shape of him, even with the moonlight streaming into the room.

"Got in a fight," he said, his voice low and soft, not so different from how it was during the day. He never spoke loudly, but somehow, he was listened to. It was a quality she'd come to admire.

"That isn't so unusual, is it?" she said, crossing her arms in front of her. He better not be getting her sheets dirty. She unfolded her arms, looking down at her nightgown and feeling her face get hot. She was very under-dressed.

"I need a place to lay over."

"Buck's isn't good enough anymore?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he took off his boots, setting them down at the foot of her bed. He picked up her stuffed rabbit, and she could see him shake his head. He set Bun Bun on her night table.

She sighed. "Let me guess, Buck's the first place the police will look, isn't it? What on earth did you do?"

"You mind if I stay?"

She looked around her darkened room. Her parents were asleep, but on the other side of the house, and that afforded her some space. Her father was gone when she woke up for school, and her mother would be the only one there. She wouldn't check on her if she was out of her room by eight o'clock. Tim could be long gone by then.

"You got a towel or something?" he asked.

She looked down at him, sitting on her bed, but couldn't make out any of his features, the room too dark. She crossed her arms in front of her again, conscious of how little she was wearing. She could smell him – leather, sweat, a hint of cologne maybe, and something else, something earthy or metallic. Lord knows what he'd done.

She inhaled, feeling her stomach flutter and her limbs grow heavy.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Turn the light on a second?"

She looked toward her doorway.

"I can't." She stared at the door, then had an idea. "Hold on a minute."

She picked up a blanket from the floor and went to her door, laying the blanket down between the floor and the crack under the door. She hurried back to her night table and pulled out a little lantern. It was a tiny, battery powered, pink and black plastic Japanese lantern her grandmother had given her. It was cheap, but pretty, and she used it to stay up reading late sometimes when she couldn't sleep. Well, this was definitely not reading late.

She clicked it on, and it cast a dim light around the bed. Tim huffed out a disbelieving breath. She brought it close to his face and almost screamed. The lantern faltered in her hand.

Tim had a mess of fabric pressed to the side of his face and there was blood everywhere.

"Oh my God!" she breathed. "What happened? What happened to you?"

"Told you, got in a fight," he said simply, as if he just had a black eye and wasn't dangerously pale and bleeding to death in her bedroom.

"Your face ..."

"Guy got me with a bottle. I don't think it's too deep."

He moved the fabric away, and she almost threw up. The blood kept seeping from a gash that ran from temple to chin. He was disfigured.

"Oh my God."

"A towel, you got one?" he asked again.

She nodded, then opened her closet door quietly and fished around in her wicker clothes hamper for a towel. It was fluffy and pink and she'd have to throw it away and hope her mother never noticed it was gone.

She rushed over and handed it to him. He held the towel to his face and even in the dim light she saw the blood soak through. He balled up the bloody fabric, and she grabbed her trash can and he tossed it in.

"You have to go to the hospital," she said.

"Can't," he said. "First place the fuzz'll look after my house and Buck's."

"How are they gonna know to look for you?"

"They just will," Tim said. "Help me get this off?"

He shrugged his jacket off his shoulders, and she helped him slip out of it. She knelt down in front of him and held the towel to his face, he wiped his hands on the towel, blood staining it.

"Oh good God," she whispered. "Your poor, poor face."

He looked at her, a smile on his face that was both kind and made him look just as young as he was. For a minute he looked like any body at school, not a rough, scarred fighter with grease in his hair, but a real person, one who was hurt.

"I'll be okay."

She nodded, a few tears escaping, and he reached up to brush them off with his thumb. She saw his hands were badly bruised and his knuckles bleeding.

She could smell the alcohol on him. It wasn't beer, something heavier, and she wondered what the hell happened out there.

She held the towel to his face for at least twenty minutes, and the next time she moved it away, it barely bled. She didn't want to risk opening it up again by cleaning off his skin.

"Here," he said, shoving some packages at her. "I got butterfly strips. You know how to use 'em?"

"I think so. I think we have disinfectant. I'll be right back. Don't you move."

She left the room and quietly crept to the bathroom, rifling through the cupboard and coming away with a bottle of antiseptic. She wet a wash cloth then crept back to her room and shut the door, making sure the blanket was shoved at the bottom of the door.

She knelt in front of Tim, wetting a Kleenex with antiseptic. He hissed as she touched it to his skin.

He needed stitches and a doctor and a hospital, but she knew it'd be like arguing with a brick wall. She tried to disinfect the wound as much as possible, then began piecing his face together with the butterfly strips. She couldn't stop the tears from falling as she placed them, and every so often he brushed them away. She didn't know why she was crying.

The bottle that cut him was at least as sharp as could be, since the cut had no jagged edges and was a thin line when she was done.

"You done torturing me?" he asked, his eyes bright, even in the glow of the lantern.

She touched his face, dabbing at a cut just above his eye.

"Leave it," he said, his breath hitting her palm. "It'll heal on its own."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked like he'd been through a wringer.

"You got a mirror?"

She nodded and got up and fetched a small hand mirror from her dresser. Before he grabbed it she stopped him.

"Don't touch anything," she breathed. "You're hands are bloody too."

"I've already touched things," he said.

She knelt down in front of him and took his hand in hers, wiping the dried blood from his hands, with the wet wash cloth, trying to get them clean. His knuckles were raw and seeping, and she stared at his scarred hands as she cleaned them. She set the cloth on her night table, his hand still in hers, then dabbed his knuckles with disinfectant. She couldn't look up at him, and when she was done, she just knelt there, his hands in hers.

"Are you sure you wanna see?" she asked.

"Yeah."

She disentangled her hands from his and took the lantern, holding it up close to his face. He took the mirror and looked.

She saw his eyes widen, just barely, then his expression was back to that neutral mask he always wore. He took in the damage for a few moments, looking resigned.

She wouldn't have pegged Tim Shepard as concerned about how he looked, but there it was. She'd bet her paltry life savings he was mourning his face. The scar, and there would be one, would mar the left side of his face for the rest of his life.

She reached over and skimmed her fingers alongside his jaw, careful not to touch the damage.

"It's not that bad," she said, her voice catching.

He managed a small grin. "You're a lousy liar, Annie."

She saw blood congealing in the corner of his mouth and reached for the wash cloth. She put her hand along his chin - she could feel the day's growth of stubble before she found his lips. She touched his lip with her other hand, telling herself it was to check for any other cuts. She felt his lips move, and realized he was smiling. She dabbed at his split lip then pulled both hands away like they'd hit fire.

"There. It's the best I can do. You shoulda gone to the hospital and got stitches."

"It's fine."

He'd probably say the same if there was a hole run straight through him. She stayed still for a moment, before she realized how stupid she must look, kneeling down in front of him like she was, wearing barely anything. She gathered up the supplies and hid them away in her night stand, then bundled up the towel and put it in the paper bag inside her waste basket. She'd have to sneak out in the morning to get rid of it, then do a once-over of her room to make sure there wasn't any blood anywhere.

She stood at the foot of her bed, the lantern in her hands, realizing he had nowhere to go and nowhere to sleep. She couldn't make him sleep on the floor.

He seemed to realize her dilemma.

"Ain't nothing gonna happen, Annie."

"I know that." She wrung her hands for a moment. "You can have the right side."

She walked toward the left side of the bed, watching as he twisted around to keep an eye on her. She sat down in her bed, arranging the covers around her.

Tim stood up a second later, and took his shirt off.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Clothes have blood on them. Don't wanna get your sheets dirty."

She heard the mirth in his voice, even after all that had happened. She frowned as she saw the light from the lantern reflect off his back. It was flecked with tons of scars. Some were short, others looked at least three inches long. She was so caught up trying to figure out what had caused it she didn't notice anything else until he unzipped his jeans.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Jeans have blood on them too."

He was enjoying this. Something about the tone of his voice made her sure he thought this was a riot. This was going to be a very long night.

She glanced over as he discarded his jeans, and saw he was clad only in a pair of briefs. She looked away, watching the shadows play on the wall. He pulled the covers back and got in the bed, keeping the covers at his waist. He leaned back against the pillows, wincing, then tucked his arms behind his head.

"Why'd you come here?" she asked.

He shrugged. "You were closest."

She was closest. Just what a girl wanted to hear.

"That's all? I was closest?" she asked. "You don't even know me that well. How do you know I won't call the police?"

"You won't. I knew I'd be safe here," he said. "And I know you'll keep your mouth shut, even though you talk up a storm."

"What'd you do that I'd need to keep my mouth shut about?"

"Better not to ask questions, Annie."

She didn't know many boys that climbed into strange girls' bedrooms in the middle of the night. She could smell his cologne and alcohol, and she knew it'd be in her sheets tomorrow. She'd have to wash everything and try not to let her mother know anything was up.

"You fight a lot." It was a statement more than a question. "Your knuckles show it."

He moved his arms down and looked at his hands, and she took one of his hands and tilted it, looking at the roughness of his knuckles. His fingertips felt smooth, and she imagined them touching her bare skin and shivered.

She let his hand go, then picked up the lantern from her lap.

She leaned over him a little so she could reach the nightstand that was on his side of the bed. She was hovering over him, and he was half naked and in her bed. She put the lantern down.

His right hand rested on the small of her back and she looked down at him, almost afraid to meet his gaze.

She looked down at his chest, saw the marks on them in the moonlight. She let her hand flutter over the angry red mark near his collarbone.

"It's an old one, it's fine."

"Your ribs okay? You were wincing earlier," she said.

She ran one hand down his torso, breathing in at the sight of his breath hitching as she touched him. She pushed lightly on his rib cage, down one side, up the other. He winced only once, upper right side.

"You should get that checked," she said, her voice catching in her throat.

"I thought that's what you were doing." He had an amused smile on his lips.

She skimmed her hand over his cut eyebrow, and brought a finger down to his bottom lip. He leaned up, taking her finger in his mouth and sucking on it. She lowered her head to his. He released her finger and leaned up toward her.

Her lips fluttered above his, and she touched them gently, not wanting to hurt him. He snaked his hand around her neck, weaving his fingers into her hair. His lips met hers, and she kissed him as carefully as she could. He tasted like alcohol.

He was insistent, his tongue parting her lips and darting into her mouth. He sucked her bottom lip, and she wondered at how it didn't hurt his own damaged mouth. She kissed him as lightly as she could, her lips breaking with his, trailing down his chin.

She traced his Adam's apple with her lips, tasting salt on his skin. His fingers massaged the back of her neck, drifting down along her spine, the cotton of her nightgown feeling less and less like a barrier.

She kissed him again, forgetting about his broken mouth, his damaged face. His hands skirted along her lower back, resting there. She kissed him again, her breath coming in gasps. His hands fluttered up her ribcage. He cupped her breast with one hand, just a whisper of fabric separating his hand from her skin. His thumb swept slowly against her nipple, and she gasped. She broke their kiss and cast her eyes down, not able to look him in the eye. She leaned her forehead against his, and his hand left her.

She heard him chuckle lightly. "I know it, Annie. You ain't that kinda girl."

She leaned up, looking into his eyes. "I like you, I really do. I'm just not fast like those girls at Buck's."

She shook with nerves. His hand cupped her cheek and he pulled her to him, kissing her again.

She broke it a second later. "I'm sorry what I said earlier, I knew you didn't do anything, you were just being nice, in your way."

He grinned at her. "In my way."

He kissed her again, and confusion bloomed in her head. Part of her wanted to kiss him harder, slide her body over his and let whatever was going to happen, happen. The other part knew she'd feel bad in the morning if she did. You were supposed to be in love with someone for this sort of thing. She didn't think she loved him. She liked him alright, and he was different from everyone else, but she didn't love him. It would be hard to love someone who didn't want you to.

She broke the kiss.

He rubbed her back, then her arms, and she knew he understood it wasn't going any further. She moved back to her side of the bed - she shook her head at that thought, it was _all_ her side of the bed - and pulled the covers around her. She felt adrift and didn't know what to do. She stared up at the ceiling, feeling close to tears. She hadn't wanted to turn him away, but she did and had to. It didn't make sense that it hurt her.

Tim was watching her, and she struggled not to cry.

Tim leaned over, wincing, and clicked the lantern off. He picked up Bun Bun from the night stand, turned back to her, lifted her hand up and tucked Bun Bun underneath her arm. She choked out a laugh, and a few tears managed to escape. She nodded, then clutched Bun Bun desperately and curled up around the bunny, her back to Tim.

She woke up in the morning alone in her bed.

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**Author's Note: **And now we reach the part where I have to write and rewrite everything from this point on. Let's hope I get inspired and can keep updating at this pace lol.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. I'm just having a little fun.

**Author's Note: **Thank you times a million to my best beta, Artemis Rex. This chapter would not have been written without her poking me with a stick. Re-writes are not fun!

* * *

**Chapter 13**

_**Thursday, April 8, 1965**_

It had been almost two full days since she'd seen Tim. His name had been on the bulletin as being absent, and she was worried. Sitting in her math class at the end of the day, she tried to close her eyes against the headache that had formed.

She'd seen Jimmy Lewis in her art class earlier, but didn't want to risk asking him about Tim. Tim had come to her house because he thought she wouldn't blab to anyone, and wouldn't it be awful if she said something she shouldn't to Jimmy?

So she kept her mouth shut, but it was driving her crazy.

She was also driving herself crazy thinking about Tim. She hoped he wasn't angry she turned him down. He'd given her Bun Bun to hug as she fell asleep, and that was just about the sweetest, but she'd woken up alone, the breeze billowing into her room from the open window. She'd found smears of blood on her nightstand and dirt smudged into her sheets. She managed to bundle most of the bloody towels up in her bed sheets, explaining with a hot face that she had to change the sheets because it was her time of the month. Her mother had told her to wash everything in cold water, and only one towel came out ruined with Tim's blood. She'd cut it up and stuffed it into the waste basket in her room, tossing it all in a shoulder bag and putting into a dumpster at school Tuesday morning.

The trouble she went through for him.

After class ended she met up with Donna in the hall and walked her to the auditorium. Donna was going on about the set painting, the gossip about the cast members, and was encouraging her to help sell tickets. Anne barely heard a word she said.

"Alright, out with it," Donna said, turning to her, her purse swinging from her shoulder like a pendulum.

"Out with what?" she asked.

"Whatever's wrong," Donna said, grabbing her purse and shuffling through it. She came out with a tube of Tangee lipstick, and touched up her lips in a window separating the hallway from the flight of stairs. Anne wondered who she was dressing up for – Donna didn't mess with makeup too much.

"Nothing's wrong." Anne shifted her books to her other hand.

Donna sighed, puckered and tucked the lipstick away. "Anne, I've known you since second grade. I can tell you're upset. What's wrong?"

She looked up and down the hallways, which were clearing out. "Tim just hasn't been in school the past two days, and I'm worried."

Donna visibly relaxed. "Is that all? He's probably cutting class. It seemed to be a pretty good hobby for him before."

"I guess."

Donna's eyes narrowed. "Unless you know something that makes it unusual?"

Anne glanced up at the clock on the wall. "Aren't you going to be late for rehearsal? You said yesterday you had a lot of set painting to do."

Donna looked at her. "Now I know you know something. What's happened?"

Anne looked down at her shoes, then Donna. "I can't say. I kind of promised. But I'm worried about him."

"If you're so worried, why don't you call him?" Donna suggested. "Better to find out whatever is going on than worry so much. You'll get wrinkles, Anne."

She smiled at Donna, just as the idea formed in her head. "I think I will."

Donna nodded at her and headed off to the auditorium.

Anne didn't have Tim's phone number, but she had something better: his address.

XXXX

Anne cut the engine on her father's car outside of Tim's house. There were no cars around – not even Tim's beat up Mainline. Her heart sank a little. She wasn't eager to knock on the front door, but if anyone knew where Tim was, it was his family.

She walked up the broken walk, dandelions starting to fuzz and kicking up in the wind. She watched a few of them float off into the distance. She climbed the two stairs up the front porch and knocked on the door. She could hear the The Kinks _Tired of Waiting For You _blaring from a radio inside, so at least someone was home. She waited a minute, then knocked again, louder.

The door was flung open a moment later, and Tim's sister, her long black hair in a tight braid that looped over her shoulder, glared at her. Anne thought her name was Angela.

"Yeah?" she asked.

"Is Tim here?" Anne asked, looking past the girl inside.

"Why?" Her gaze narrowed. "Oh. Prom girl. Nope. Haven't seen him."

She started to close the door and Anne jammed her foot in the way.

"It's just, we have a lot of work coming up," Anne said, aching to ask if his face was okay, if he got arrested, if he was dead somewhere. "For prom. And I need to know if he'll be there tomorrow."

"Tim's got more important things to worry about than a stupid prom," Angela said. She tried to close the door, but Anne held her foot firm. His sister looked down at Anne's foot and then up to her face. She was pretty, but there was a hardness to her eyes, just like Tim's. She felt suddenly sorry for her and didn't have a clue why.

"Do you know where I can find him?" Anne asked. "It's important. I really need to see him."

Angela sighed. "A lot of girls really need to see him. I'm gonna do you a favour. Tim don't care, he's got his own problems, doesn't need you hanging onto him, get lost."

Anne stood there in shock. "I can't get lost. He's on my sub-committee. Decorations."

Angela looked at Anne, her face just as stone-like as her brother's. Anne wished anyone else had answered the door. Even the mean looking step-father would've been an improvement.

"Can you tell him I came by at least?" Anne said, exasperated. "I'm afraid if he doesn't show up for the prom committee tomorrow the principal will tell him he can't graduate. Can you tell him that? That he has to show up?"

Angela snapped her gum, blew a tiny bubble and popped it like a firecracker. "Sure. I'll tell him."

Anne moved her foot, and Angela slammed the door in her face. She stood there, stunned, before she turned around and headed back towards her car, no further ahead than she was earlier.

XXXX

_**Friday, April 9, 1965**_

Tim didn't come back to school on Friday either, and at the prom meeting Anne didn't offer any kind of excuse for him. She didn't miss the raised eyebrows that went around the table when Christine brought the meeting to a start, and Tim still wasn't there.

She barely heard a word that was said the rest of the meeting, too concerned about whether she could do all of the work if Mr. Casing decided Tim wouldn't be graduating. The principal couldn't do that, not so close to the end of the year. She wondered if anyone had told him Tim was hurt. That ought to make a difference.

"Anne!" Christine said. "You're off in dream land again. Now, if Tim's not going to show up, that means you have to pick up his slack."

"Not a surprise," Ken said under his breath.

"He's been really helpful," Anne said tersely. "We have things covered, most of the rest of the work will be setting up."

"Sure, he's been helpful," Michael said. "We all know you're probably covering for him. Lord knows why. But if you can't handle all the work yourself, you need to let us know. We can take it over."

"No!" Anne said. "Everything is completely under control. I'm going to put together my own sub-committee for prom cleanup. I'm going to ask if we can offer a credit for post-prom clean up. That's the one that's hardest to get volunteers for. Then we'll have enough people to help us."

"And what about set up for prom?" Brenda asked. "You can't expect us to do all your work."

"Tim's handling it," Anne said, hoping he wasn't going to make her a liar.

"Where is he anyway?" Trudy asked.

"Jail, probably," Michael said. "He can't seem to go more than a few weeks without it."

Anne bounced her foot under the table. Michael was usually nicer than that. Jeffrey was at least keeping his mouth shut about things, but then, Jeffrey wasn't exactly in Michael's social circle.

"I heard one of the senior girls talking," Ken said. "That blonde one that always gets sent home because her skirts are too short – "

"Sylvia Peterson?" Brenda asked.

"No, the other one. The one who tried out for varsity cheerleader at the beginning of the year," Ken said. "You know, the one who Tommy Linde took out that time and had all those stories about?"

"Oh, Carolyn West."

"She's been telling everybody some stories about Shepard, let me tell you," Ken said. "Let's just say he isn't much for, uh, closing the deal with his dates."

"Ken, don't be crude," Brenda chided.

"Let's wrap this up." Christine gathered her books. "Dave's waiting for me, and talking about Tim Shepard's the last thing I want do."

"Well," Anne said to Ken. "From what I heard Tim's record at completing passes is better than yours. On and off the field."

She heard the squeak of surprise Brenda made, and she managed to grab her books and head for the door quick enough that none of them had time to respond.

XXXX

Anne took in a deep breath, unsure if she was making the right move. Mr. Casing might not know where Tim was, but it wouldn't be completely terrible to tell him how useful Tim had been so far. Granted, Tim's help lately had been shoplifting crepe paper, but he'd also arranged for the balloons and helped her figure out where everything would go in the gymnasium. She'd never tell it to his face, but he had a real knack for planning.

She asked the secretary if she could see Mr. Casing and was asked to wait in the outer office. She sat, listening to the pounding clacks of the Selectric typewriters and the ring of phones, until everything died down. Most of the office staff went home for the day, and the secretary, a woman Anne thought should have retired about fifty years ago, smiled at her kindly.

"He'll be with you soon," she said. "He has a parent conference right now."

"Oh," Anne said, twisting a tissue in her hands. She wasn't quite sure what to say to Mr. Casing. All she knew was since Tim had missed the meeting he was in danger of not graduating. If Mr. Casing decided that was that, Anne was on her own for prom. She knew Tim wouldn't stick with it just to help her out.

She wanted him to stay on, and she wanted Mr. Casing to let him. Not just because she needed help, but she didn't want him to fail out all because he was hurt. There was something very unfair about that – it's not like Tim was trying to cut class.

She heard the door to Casing's office open and heard voices. She stood up and smoothed her skirt out. She was surprised to see Tim's mother come around the corner with Mr. Casing.

"He'll be here early next week, if all goes well," she said. His mother gave Mr. Casing a clipped look before turning toward the doors. "Anne, isn't it?"

She looked up and smiled. "Yeah, Anne Macdonald."

Mr. Casing stood there and waited, but Anne smiled at him and then turned to Tim's mom, walking out the door with her. The principal could wait for another day – Tim's mom would have answers.

"So nice to see you again," Tim's mother said.

"Is Tim alright?" she asked, her voice low.

"Oh, that boy's just fine, always is," she said. "The police were bothering him again. He won't see the judge until Monday morning at the earliest."

"He got arrested?" she asked, her heart sinking. There was no way Casing wouldn't kick him out of prom committee now.

"Ummhmm," his mother said, fishing in her purse for something. "Something bad happens, they come right to my door, like my boys are responsible for everything that happens around here. They've got it out real bad for them."

"Is … is his face okay?" Anne asked.

His mother turned to her. "They looked after him in the emergency room at the Osteopathic hospital before they took him in. They did what they could, but … he'll have a scar, that's for certain. I wish I could box the ears of the man that did it! They arrested him too, you know. Yet they want to get Timothy on assault charges. It's disgusting, is what it is. A man can't defend himself around here without an assault charge."

Anne's shoulders relaxed a little. He'd seen a doctor and he wasn't on the run somewhere. Things just might be okay.

"I was worried," she admitted. "Not just for prom committee, although I'm worried about that too, but his face … it looked so bad."

She smacked her lips shut and looked up to the ceiling. She just had to open her big mouth and say something to his _mother_.

Lillian Coleman turned towards her. Her eyes were a clear green and didn't hold that sheen of pain they had when they'd met before. She took Anne's hand in hers and squeezed.

"You took care of him real nice," she said sincerely. "Didn't you? I can tell you're a good girl, not like some of the ones Timothy's brought home. He doesn't have a lot of people on his side. He needs all he can get."

Anne watched her, nodding a little.

"Timothy's a good boy. Curly too. And Angela, well, she tries to be just like those boys in her way. They aren't bad kids, despite what everyone says," Lillian said, still gripping Anne's hand. "I know people talk about them like they're filled with the devil, but they're not. Timothy … he looks out for us all. You met Hank. A woman can't feed three kids on her own, and I think Tim knows that. I hope he does. He needs to graduate from this school, or Hank will throw him out. Hank's not real serious about a lot of things, but he is about that, Lord knows why. I guess he thinks he's smart enough to have graduated, anything less is an insult on him. Sometimes I think Hank underestimates Tim. He's not getting kicked out of this school if he can help it. I think he knows what that'd leave us with."

Anne's mouth felt sour. She wasn't used to adults talking to her like this.

"Timothy is a good boy. He looks out for us, and I don't want that principal railroading him for missing one or two meetings. You said he'd been helping out?"

Anne nodded. "A lot, actually."

Lillian smiled grimly, and for the first time Anne saw a family resemblance. "He knows he has to stay. He knows he has to pass. Lord, that won't be a problem, he's as smart as they come. High IQ and everything from all those tests they gave him as a kid. Everyone has it out for him, and he's doing this to make things right for us, I know that. When Mr. Casing called, I told him under no circumstances was he failing my boy for this. It ain't right he's doing it this way, participation credit or not. He said as long as Tim gets back to class by Tuesday, he can still graduate."

She let Anne's hand go. Anne let out a breath at the news Tim was still able to graduate.

"He's a good boy," Lillian said again. "He's always been one. Always protecting us. He just can't fail this year. Hank'll toss him out, and Tim'll never come back to this place. I know him. He can make something of himself. He's so smart …"

He voice trailed off and Anne wanted to turn away from Lillian's expression.

"I've messed up enough things for them all, now all he can do is make sure I don't get creamed when Hank drinks. That's the kind of mother I am. That's what I gave him, and he repays me by making sure I'm okay, and I don't deserve it. God knows I try to do right by them, but … what's a mother to do? I ask you that … what else can I do?"

Her fingers brushed Anne's shoulder and she grabbed her purse strap and headed for the side doors of the school. Anne stood completely still for a few minutes, not wanting to move until she was sure she wouldn't burst into tears.

XXXX

_**Monday, April 12, 1965**_

Tim saw his mother slink into the squad room and approach him. He was cuffed to the chair at O'Lafferty's desk, and was glad the fat ass wasn't around. His mother would just get into it with him and screw everything up.

"I set things right with your principal," his mother said, with no preamble. "I got the money for the fine here. You're sure they're letting you go?"

Tim nodded. "Guy dropped the charges. I ain't pressing any against him."

He'd done enough damage already.

His mother pulled a wrinkled white envelope out of her purse.

"I'll settle the fine," she said. "I need to get back to the church. Can I trust you to find your own way home?"

He looked up at her and it took all his power not to roll his eyes.

"Yeah. Thanks, ma," he said, between gritted teeth.

She looked down on him, her weary face making her look older than her thirty-six years. "Alright. I'll be home for dinner. There's two steaks in the freezer, take those out and set them in the sink when you get home, we'll have those for dinner."

She ran her hand over his face, her eyes pained as she took in the scar. It itched like crazy and it was nearly impossible not to scratch at it. He'd peeled the bandages off when they'd let him out of his cell, and the dark stitches stood out against his pale skin, making him look like Frankenstein's monster sewn together. Jesus Christ, if he had trouble getting laid before, now it'd be damn near impossible.

His mother tilted his chin up and planted a kiss on his forehead.

"Be good," she warned, for all the good it'd do her.

A short time later, O'Lafferty came hulking over to him and huffed out wheezing breaths as he leaned over to uncuff Tim.

"You're real lucky this time, Shepard," O'Lafferty said. "On of these days you'll jump somebody that'll knife you in the gut."

"You sure about that, O'Lafferty?"

"Sure as shit I am," he said, hitching his massive belt up, the night stick and gun holster clinking together. "Just as sure you'll end up sleeping in the Greystone Hotel for most of your adult life. You ain't gonna get off so easy in a few months."

O'Lafferty sorted through Tim's file.

"November," he said. "You'll see. You turn eighteen then, and I guarantee you'll be in here for more than a weekend. You'll be up on murder charges or assault with a weapon and go away for a real long time, thank the Lord. Mommy won't be able to bail you out then."

His blood was hot, but he kept a blank face. "I wouldn't count your chickens, old man."

Tim stood up, resisted rubbing his wrists where the cuffs had chafed, and signed the paperwork. He tossed the pen down on O'Lafferty's desk and grabbed his jacket, flicking it over his shoulder and walking out of the precinct a free man.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.

**Author's Note: **Oh God, I am so sorry about how long this damn chapter took. I've had to re-write the entire lead up to the end of the fic, as well as some of the end, and I just got so stuck I couldn't seem to write a thing. I'm hoping to have the next chapter up in a week or week and a half. Send me some writing mojo!

* * *

**Chapter 14**

_**Monday, April 12, 1965**_

No one picked him up as Tim tried to hitch a ride back to his house from the jail. He couldn't blame them – between the harness boots, the leather jacket he wore despite the heat, and his jeans covered in a layer of dust from walking, he probably didn't look like the most easygoing hitchhiker in the world.

He stuck a cigarette between his lips and lit a match off his thumb, discarding the spent match in the dust on the shoulder of the road. He took in a few drags, blowing out smoke rings and trying to shake the weird feelings jail always left him with.

Three and a half weeks until this prom charade was up.

He wouldn't admit he was relieved his mother had worked things out with Casing. He figured the minute the principal heard about his arrest he was toast, but his mother had gotten all riled up when he'd called her from holding, letting it slip he was probably going to fail out of school.

Properly motivated, Lillian Coleman was a force to be reckoned with, and he didn't envy Casing the experience.

He walked along East Archer, leaving the jail at his back, and made his way under the highway overpass towards the North side. It was almost three in the afternoon, and he held out some hope Hank would take his time getting home from the bar tonight and he could catch up on some sleep before the screaming started. He never slept well on the inside, some drunk asshole always yelling or singing, hoods bothering each other, and the cops fucking you around all night with random bed checks and talking just a little too loud while they made their rounds of the cells during shift change.

His boots hit the dusty pavement with force as he made his way back toward his house, heat rising off the street. He paused when he saw Hank's truck outside the house. It was never a good sign when he was home this early.

Tim cut through the tall grass and heard the yelling before he hit the stairs.

He opened the front door on some kind of trailer trash tableau.

Hank had Curly up against the living room wall, an arm wedged under his chin. Curly's face was a tomato red, and Angela, her lip cut and her cheeks lit up like a Christmas light was yanking on Hank's arm.

They were frozen like that for a split second, then Hank shoved Angela away. She slid on the dirty carpeting and grabbed for the fireplace mantle, taking a candlestick holder with her when she landed on her ass.

He could see pretty easy where this was going to go.

He marched into the house, heading straight for Hank. Curly's eyes got large, his face still bright red, and Tim could see the panic in his little brother's eyes. Curly was never much for things that made you hold your breath, like swimming or shit like that. Hank's idea of teaching Curly to swim had been tossing him out of the fishing boat on Skiatook Lake. Nine-year-old Curly had sunk to the bottom faster than a steel anchor, and Tim had to jump in after him. All these years later he could still hear Hank laughing about it, like Curly hadn't swallowed half the lake and threw up in the boat when they managed to haul him back in.

Tim pushed Angel out of the way, the candlestick holder in her hand. She backed up against the wall, and Tim wrenched Hank's arm away from Curly's throat. His brother took in a gasping breath and slid down the wall, his face immediately fading to pink.

Hank staggered back and Tim cringed at the smell of booze coming off him. Hank's eyes darkened and he swung at Tim, catching him in the jaw. Tim had a moment's relief Hank had hit the opposite side of his face from the scar.

Tim socked Hank in the gut, moving back after the punch in case he lost his lunch. Hank charged him, shoving him back into a sideboard, family pictures scattering to the floor. Glass crunched under his boot as he stepped on a framed photo. Hank caught him in the head with another punch, then Tim used his foot to push Hank back. Tim swung and hit Hank in the face, and the man stumbled back into his arm chair.

Hank wasn't a slouch in the fighting department. Any other day and he probably would've sent Tim reeling. Usually, if it ever came to fists, it was no contest with him and Curly against Hank. But today he was so soused he could barely stand straight, and despite having at least fifty pounds of muscle on Tim, he was fading fast.

Tim took advantage of the break in the scuffle to move to the kitchen. He opened the cupboard, pulled out two half-empty bottles of Jim Beam and marched back into the living room.

"You thirsty old man?" he asked.

He chucked one bottle at Hank's head. His stepfather ducked and the bottle shattered against the wall, soaking the gold curtains in bourbon. His mother was going to have a fit.

"You put that down, boy!" Hank roared.

Tim, holding the ace in the hole, looked at Hank. He moved to the front door with the second bottle, marching outside with purpose and tossing the bottle into the front cab of Hank's truck. He could see the relief plain as day on Hank's face when he realized Tim hadn't shattered the bottle.

He staggered out to the truck, passing Tim on the way.

"You're gonna be in for a world of hurt later," he said, a finger wavering in front of Tim's face. It took all his self control not to bite it off.

"Yeah?" Tim asked. "Then I'll be sure to find the shit you're hiding in the shed out back. And maybe the shit you got stashed in the basement? You lay a hand on anyone tonight or any other night, and you won't be able to find a drop of damn booze in the entire state."

He went into the house and didn't look back, not even when the truck engine roared to life and Hank took off.

XXXX

"Just leave me alone!" Angela smacked Curly's hand away from her face. "You just had to jump in like some kind of animal. I had it under control."

"What happened?" Tim asked wearily.

Angel looked over at him, her eyes growing large.

"Jesus," she whispered, looking at his face in shock. "Tim!"

"He was wailing on Angel, so I stepped in," Curly said, yanking on his t-shirt and stretching it up to wipe his face. He had blood congealing in one nostril, but he wasn't purple anymore, and that was an improvement. When Curly caught a look at his face, he did a double take, staring at him in shock.

"Why was he on your case?" Tim asked his sister again, ignoring their looks.

Angel was still looking at him, shock plain in her face. It took a minute for her to register the question.

"It's none of your business," Angela said, her hands quaking. She balled them up into fists and punched Curly in the shoulder. "That's for not minding your own!"

She went down the hall, stomping her feet, and slammed her bedroom door.

"Jesus, that's the thanks I get." Curly's face was morose.

"She was about to jump in there and save your sorry ass," Tim said. "She was holding that candlestick holder like a baseball bat."

"I had him right where I wanted him," Curly said defensively.

Tim grinned at him. "Right. That's just what I thought."

He wandered over to the side table. He'd stepped on his grandparents' wedding picture. Fucking fantastic. His mother was going to lose her mind.

He picked up the frame and picture, setting it on the table. He'd get Angel to clean up the mess later.

Curly went into the small bathroom and shoved some tissues up his nose, making the bleeding worse.

"When'd you get out?" Curly asked, looking at him through the mirror.

"Little while ago. What happened here anyway? What was he doing home?"

"He got off work at noon, and the bar kicked him out at three. You know he ain't usually like that, he'd never have gone after Angel otherwise," Curly said.

"No ... he'd just go after mom."

He ignored the look in Curly's eyes.

"Your face looks real bad. Does it hurt?" Curly asked.

Tim shrugged.

"Hey Tim?"

"Yeah."

"Some of the guys are talking about this whole prom thing." Curly was studying his face in the mirror and started to squeeze a pimple on his chin. Tim looked away.

"What are they saying?"

"Just ... well, they're just saying it don't seem like you really wanna fuck all that shit up, you know? I heard Ray saying you got it for that blonde chick, Anne? He saw you at Buck's with her, said you was real cozy."

"So?"

"Guess he said something about you pussying out on the prom stuff. Not the cars, mind you, just the other stuff. Said you're getting soft since you're letting that chick call the shots."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Tim asked. Ray had a mouth on him, but sometimes Curly got his wires crossed when it came to information.

"Ray said it seemed like you don't wanna ruin nothing, on account of Anne," Curly said. "Like you were pussying out of the whole deal. I mean, everyone thinks the car shit is gonna be good and all, but the guys really wanna see those Socs squirm."

"Ray was saying this?"

Curly nodded. "Carl too, I guess. Maybe Pete. They don't mean nothing, they just wanna have some fun. Blow off some steam. It ain't no joke that them Socs are always in our faces. This is a big way to get 'em back."

He didn't really care about the prom shit either way. The cars were the ticket – he'd score enough cash that he could make a rent payment and shut Hank up for a few months about getting out of the house. If he could make some connections outside of Tulsa for car parts, they might have the start of a real nice operation.

Soaking a gym full of rich kids was just a side project. It was stupid, juvenile shit, but then, his boys were stupid juveniles. He rubbed his eyes. This was all going to fucking hell.

He wasn't pussying out. He didn't care either way if Annie got her prom or not – hell it'd probably help her out to have it blow up in her face. Maybe then she'd see those Socs didn't care about anything but themselves.

She'd been handy when he'd needed a place to layover that night. For awhile, he thought he might get lucky out of it, even if it was pity sex because of his damn face. But she'd frozen up like a good little girl, and he supposed that's just what she was. No way one of them was jumping in the sack with him if it wasn't for slumming. At least Annie was honest enough to turn him down, but it burned him a little.

"Get the boys together," he said. "We'll meet tonight, seven o'clock, down at the tracks. I want to have a word with everyone."

Curly's eyes had gotten big in the mirror. His chin was red and blotchy from where he'd been picking at it.

"You gonna crack some skulls?"

"Yours if you don't get out there and tell 'em," Tim said. "Make sure they know ditching out on this meeting ain't an option. And leave Reggie Wilson and Eddie Demarco out of it."

"They ain't making it in, huh?"

Tim shook his head. Demarco was a rat and Wilson was a hot head. He had enough of both of those types.

Curly nodded. He glanced down the hall at Angel's door.

"I'll stay here," Tim said, realizing Curly didn't want to leave Angel alone in case Hank came back. He got Curly in a head lock and walked him towards the door. "Gotta wash the jail off me anyway."

He tossed Curly out the front door and shut it on him, closing his eyes against the headache forming.

XXXX

He knocked on Angel's door twice, but she wouldn't open it and didn't answer.

"You know I'm just gonna open it, Angel," he said patiently.

No response.

The cops had confiscated his switchblade, but he found a jackknife in the kitchen drawer and flicked it open. The locks on these old doors were nothing more than push locks on the inside. The keyhole on the outside was a rectangular slit. He popped the tip of the knife inside and twisted it to the left. The lock gave an audible click.

He swung the door open.

"I hate you," Angel said.

She was sitting at her dressing table, an old fashioned thing that used to belong to their mother. Angel was dabbing at her lip with some kind of makeup goop.

"There's antiseptic in the bathroom," he said.

She eyed him warily through her mirror. "Go away."

He leaned over and tilted her head up to get a better look at her lip, and she weaved away from him.

"It's no big deal," she said. "I bit my lip."

"When he hit you?"

"He just slapped me."

Tim sighed, the headache now fully formed and radiating into his eyes. The redness had faded from Angel's face, but the corner of her lip and mouth was starting to bruise.

"Jesus," she said, looking in the mirror. "How the hell am I going to explain this at school? My friends are gonna think we're trash."

"Everyone already thinks that," Tim said, sitting down on the edge of her bed. He watched her stick some wand full of black goop around her eyes. "Why do you have to put so much of that shit on anyway?"

"'That shit' is how I'm going to distract everyone from this," she said, waving her hand toward her mouth.

She dabbed at it, looking at Tim out of the corner of her eye. She finally turned to him and studied his face.

"I know," he said. "I look like shit."

"There ain't nothing they can do?" she asked, a measure of pity in her voice.

"Stitched it up as best they could." He resisted the urge to touch the stitches, which were beginning to itch down the side of his face. "What'd he get mad about?"

Angel tossed a tissue into the waste basket and lifted a shoulder.

"I'm asking nice, Angel," he said.

"What're you gonna do if you stop asking nice, huh?" she asked, looking at him through the mirror again. "Put me through a wall?"

He glanced upwards. Sometimes she tried his patience more than anyone else in the world, poking at things, insulting the girls he brought home, being a general pain in the ass. She was gonna be trouble.

"He didn't like my outfit," she supplied, her voice a little quieter, like she realized she shouldn't have said he'd hurt her.

He looked at her. Her skirt was an alright length, for their neighbourhood at least, but maybe not for school. Her shirt was tied up at the waist and she had three buttons undone at the top, enough to show she had a rack on her, small as it was.

"I think maybe he had a point," Tim said. "Put a sweater on or something."

"It's hot out," she complained. "You don't get on Carolyn's case, and I seen her wear things like this when she comes by."

"Carolyn ain't my little sister," he said. "Do up two of those buttons."

Angel made a face and did up one button. "Why? I ain't goin' nowhere."

He sighed and decided to give up the fight if she wasn't aiming to leave the house.

"You should clean up that mess out in the living room before mom gets back," he said. "Stinks like bourbon in there."

She made a face. "You broke it, you should clean it up."

"I got things to do. Just clean it up so she don't see."

Angel sighed.

"Curly was doing okay," she said, doing her best not to look at him now. "I mean, if you hadn't come home he woulda got creamed, but he was doing alright. For awhile."

He wanted to tell her to tell him that, but she'd never do it. Those two fought likes cats and dogs, but if anyone else got in the fray, watch out. He stood up and mussed her hair on top.

"Hey!" she said, grabbing his hand and stopping him. She was quiet for a second, but didn't let go of his hand. "Don't go back to jail anymore, alright? Or get half your face cut off?"

He huffed out a laugh, but choked it back when he saw the look in her eye. He nodded.

"Alright," he lied.

XXXX

Tim had a shower, washing the smell of jail off of him. The phone was ringing when he got out, and he padded over to the wall in the kitchen to answer it, a towel around his waist and water dripping onto the floor.

"Hank's in the cooler," his mother said with no preamble. "Says they're keeping him over night."

"What for?" Tim asked, like he had no idea.

"Found him passed out behind the wheel downtown," his mother said. "Now I gotta come up with bail money if they decide to charge him."

Tim pressed the bridge of his nose.

"Call down there," he finally said. "Try and get Sikone on the phone and bargain with him. Lay it on thick about the rent. He'll let him go in the morning with a citation."

His mother sighed. "Did you take those steaks out?"

"No," he said. "Me an' Curly'll be out tonight anyway."

"Probably best," she sighed again. "Don't get in any more trouble, Timothy."

There was a click, and she was gone.

He let out a tense breath. At least Hank wouldn't be coming home tonight. He'd probably spend the next few weeks contrite and swearing off the booze, promising to do better and all that shit. He'll think Tim told his mother about Angel, and be ready and willing to play the good husband for awhile. Then he'd slip. He always slipped.

He went into his room and got dressed. Now he could wipe Hank out of his brain and concentrate on his gang. From the frying pan into the fryer.

There wasn't a lot of time left. He needed the boys behind him, and that was that.

Even if it meant cracking some heads.

XXXX

He parked in an alley beside a dumpster and made his way under the streets to the train tracks.

He didn't like being back here so soon after that fight. The guy had stood in court, his face bashed in worse than Tim's, and it was like he could smell the bourbon on him still.

The creosote soaked tracks smelled sickly familiar, and he pushed all thoughts of that night out of his head.

The boys were all gathered, horsing around the burnt out car shell. Tim glanced around, counting heads, and realized Shorty Andrews was missing. That was more common that not. Tim would have to pay him a visit after work, let him know the situation. He was a quiet guy, and a busted up face might be all that was needed to send Shorty on his way. They didn't need him anyhow.

The boys quieted as they saw Tim approach, and he took in their quiet gazes with confusion until he realized they were looking at his face.

Pete shrunk away from him, and even Ray looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"Holy shit," Carl murmured. "That guy really did a number on you."

He let the comment pass.

"I heard you really messed up the other guy," Adam supplied helpfully.

Tim shrugged. "Not as bad as I'm gonna mess y'all up. I've been hearing things."

He didn't miss the look that passed between Ray and Carl, then the sidelong glance Ray sent Curly's way. Curly would have to deal with any blowback. It was on him to tell Tim what was up, and if Ray and Carl didn't like it, they'd have to settle it amongst themselves.

"What kinda things you been hearing?" Bill asked, lighting a cigarette. Tim didn't miss the amusement in Bill's voice. He knew the score, even if he didn't know the story.

A train chugged by, the wheels squealing against the metal tracks as it moved, the cars bumping against each other in a chain of metallic thumps. When the sound died down, everyone was looking at him, waiting for him to respond. He liked that.

"Heard some of you think I'm pussying out on this prom deal," he said. "I wanna be real clear. We're still hitting all those cars."

He walked amongst them, stopping near Ray, knowing he'd be the one to respond.

"What about the rest of it?" he said. "The cars are great, sure, but what about those Socs? And Casing? He set you into this."

There was murmured agreement among the boys.

"He did," Tim said. "And we'll take care of them all."

"Are you sure, Tim?" Ray asked, his voice a little lower – almost taunting. "Seems to me like maybe you got a soft spot for that girl Anne. If you wanna back out of ruining the prom cuz of her, we need to know."

"Ray," Tim said congenially. He clapped Ray on the back and squeezed his shoulder. "You know I don't put any woman in front of a job that needs to be done."

He yanked on Ray as hard as he could, then hit him in the stomach with all the force he could muster. He heard the air whomp out of Ray's lungs, and Ray wavered on his feet before sinking to his knees. He did his best not to groan, but Tim knew that sort of gut punch would sit with him awhile.

He shoved Ray's head as he walked by.

"Anyone else got any questions?" he asked.

It was mercifully quiet. For a minute.

"So, we're gonna do it then?" Curly asked. "Set off those sprinklers?"

Tim resisted the urge to roll his eyes, look skyward or curse what God had saddled him with. Sometimes that kid just didn't learn a thing.

"Yeah," he said. "I want Ray and Carl on the alarms and sprinklers, like we talked about. The rest of you I'll need to set everything up a day or two before. Prom committee'll need help, and we can place the shit wherever we need to for the most damage. Any of you got a problem with helping out?"

There was a chorus of no's. Ray had finally gotten to his feet and was staring at Tim sourly.

"Good," he said. "The next few weeks until then I want you practicing on those cars. I want it all to go down as fast as possible. Once those sprinklers go, the cops show, and we have to be outta there before that."

"Aw, man," Carl said. "I wanted to see the aftermath."

"Well, by all means, you stick around then," Tim said, looking at Carl. "Don't come crying to me when O'Lafferty hauls you in."

Carl made a face and kicked a stone toward the tracks.

"I don't want any of you breathing a word to anyone," he said. "This gets out, we're up shit creek. Am I clear? I catch anyone saying a word you'll be drinking your dinner for the next few months."

Everyone nodded, then he turned around and headed back toward his car. Bill fell into step next to him.

"Gimme a lift to my car?" he asked.

Tim looked over at him. Bill parked close enough by he could cross the tracks and find his way. Tim sighed. At least his right-hand man wasn't dumb enough to ask questions in front of everyone, but it burned that he had to ask at all.

He got into Tim's car and was silent until Tim had driven around the few blocks to Bill's Bel Air.

"You really okay to pull that shit with the sprinklers?" Bill asked.

Tim shrugged. "It's fucking pussy shit, but it's what those little clowns want. Gotta give a little to get a little, I figure."

"What about Anne?" Bill asked. "You ain't telling her?"

Tim gave him a look and Bill shrugged in amusement.

"No," he said. "I ain't telling her. She'll have another prom next year anyway."

Bill chuckled. "Somehow, I don't think she's gonna see it that way."

Bill got out of the car and shut the door. Tim peeled out of the alley and headed back to the North side. Annie was going to shit bricks, but there was nothing he could do. He was a hood, he was stuck on prom committee and he was being railroaded by a principal that wanted to see him in jail rather than graduate.

Sometimes you just had to do what you had to do, and everyone else would have to deal with it.

* * *

**A/N:** An all-Tim chapter, insane that it took me almost a month to get it out.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.

**Author's Note: **Finally in a bit of a groove with re-writing. To all those that sent writing mojo, it appears to be working lol.

* * *

**Chapter 15**

_**Tuesday, April 13, 1965**_

Tuesday morning Anne wandered between class looking left and right, craning her neck to spot Tim in the throng of students. His mother had said he'd be back by Tuesday if all went well, and here it was and no Tim.

She spotted some of the boys from his gang – she might have had the guts to go up to Jim Lewis and ask him if he'd seen Tim at school, but he was with the whole group of rangy boys hanging out by their lockers, whistling at girls that walked by, glaring at Socs, and generally making a nuisance of themselves.

She recognized the one she'd spotted at the party Tim took her to, the boy that had talked to her at the jukebox. He'd eyed her warily, like he didn't trust her, and she was too uncomfortable to even think about asking him where Tim was.

"I don't know what to do," Anne sighed, eating lunch outside with Donna.

Her friend shrugged. "I'm sure he can handle it."

Anne wanted to spill the whole story, about Tim's face and his fight, the night he spent in her room … but she couldn't. She'd promised to keep her mouth shut, and she was going to do it.

She ate her lunch in morose silence.

"I'm just worried Mr. Casing's gonna kick him out," Anne said finally.

"Anne, what does it matter if he does?" Donna asked. "Tim Shepard's a big boy, he can make his own decisions."

"But sometimes people make them for him," Anne said. "He was forced to join this committee to graduate. Do you know anyone else being forced to do that?"

"I don't know anyone else that cuts class as much as he does," Donna said. She picked a piece of tomato out of her sandwich and handed it to Anne who laid in on her own. She and Donna had traded bits of their lunches since they were kids.

"But it's not like he's failing. He passes all his classes," Anne said.

Donna nodded. "It's kind of weird. Maybe Casing thinks he's cheating."

Anne chewed thoughtfully. There had to be something she could do.

"I'm not going to say I don't think they railroad him a bit," Donna said. "But you have to admit he courts it."

Anne nodded. "I know. But he wants to graduate. Everybody should be able to do that. He's smart enough."

"More than that," Donna said. "If he's not cheating at classes, then he's got more brains than I ever gave him credit for. Tell me the truth – is he really helping with all this prom planning?"

Anne nodded. "I mean, he's not about to pick out colours or anything, but he's good with logistical stuff. He's a good planner. Maybe he needs to be with that gang of boys."

"Well," Donna said, gathering up the remains of her lunch as the bell rung. "Just make sure Casing knows it. That's all you can do."

Anne nodded. She would have to walk into the lion's den, whether Tim would approve or not.

XXXX

As the final bell rung and she headed for the principal's office, she thought she caught a glimpse of Tim in the crowd, but by the time she'd pushed through the throng of students, he was gone. She heard whispers all day, people talking about his face, and it made her sad every time she heard his name whispered down the hall.

She sighed, then continued to the office. The secretary let her right through to Mr. Casing's office, an overly formal room that made her nervous.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm Anne Macdonald," she said. "I'm on the prom committee, with Tim Shepard. I'm just wondering about Tim. Is he alright?"

Mr. Casing nodded. "Mr. Shepard was arrested on an assault charge."

"Is he okay?" she asked.

Mr. Casing looked at her.

"I mean, I just really need him for prom committee. He's got everything organized so well," she stammered. "We would never have figured out how to get all the balloons here without him, and he was going to draft some of his friends to help decorate. He's just been a God-send on this committee, kind of makes me feel like I've got nothing to do."

"Timothy Shepard?"

"Well, yeah," she said, as if Tim planned proms every day of his life. "Is he coming back to school? If he does, you just have to let him stay on the committee. I'd just die and never be able to carry all the work on my own if he couldn't."

"Mr. Shepard is back at school today," Casing said. Anne resisted letting out a relieved breath. "It remains to be seen about the committee."

"Oh, please, Mr. Casing, you have to," she said. "I know you got him doing it to graduate, and even though that may not be fair since I know a few other students who never did a school activity, it'd be a real loss for us if he wasn't there to help. I mean, gosh, prom could be a total disaster. Imagine that! All those disappointed kids. Oh, and never mind me, having to pull all that work myself. I never get in any kind of trouble, do I? It'd be a terrible thing if I had to suffer because it was more important to punish Tim Shepard."

She let the words out in a rush, kind of stunned at herself for saying so many critical things to the principal.

Instead, Mr. Casing sighed. "He'll be in detention the rest of the week. Friday, he can come to the meeting. But this is his last chance."

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Casing," she said, breathing easier. "You have no idea how much you just saved me!"

She rushed out of his office into the hall, feeling like she'd just fixed everything.

XXXX

_**Friday, April 16, 1965**_

Friday afternoon, Anne was waiting outside of the prom committee meeting room when she saw Tim walking towards the room. She'd heard whispers all week, and caught glimpses of him in the halls, but it didn't really prepare her for how his face looked.

She stared as he approached. The scar, a dark purplish red, streaked down his face from his temple to his chin. At least he got some kind of care for it, as black stitches stood out against his skin at each end, and the skin around the scar was red.

"Please tell me it's not infected," she said, ignoring the way her stomach did a little flip flop when she saw him.

"You can put away the long face," he said. "Hospital docs gave me antibiotic cream and shit. It'll heal."

"Am I ever glad to see you," she said truthfully. "Did you talk to Mr. Casing? He said you got arrested. Are you gonna be able to come back to the committee? Can you graduate?"

"I heard someone was singing my praises," he said. "Didn't have to, Annie. In fact, it would've been better if you hadn't."

She was hurt, but glared up at him. "Well, I did, so stick that in a pipe and smoke it. What happened anyway? How'd you get cut up so bad? After all I did, I at least deserve to know."

"Meet me in the parking lot after classes. We'll go to the Dingo."

She agreed without hesitation, marvelling at the change in herself. A few months ago she would have been scandalized. She felt a little weird being alone with him, even if it was just in a school hallway – it was the first time she'd seen him since that night in her bed, and her cheeks burned as she thought about it.

They walked into the meeting, and Anne noticed the looks that passed between everyone. They probably thought Tim wasn't coming back at all.

"Well, I see Mr. Casing went against his better judgement," Christine said.

"Yeah, imagine that," Tim said.

He gave Anne a look, and she glanced down at her notebook. She'd been doing all kinds of extra work to take up the slack, and Christine had let her be – had even praised her one day for selling so many tickets. She didn't want to ruin that and kept her mouth shut.

"I heard mommy had to come to school to sort things out," Michael said.

"That happens when you get arrested for beating a guy half to death," Tim said.

Michael shut his mouth, and Brenda called the meeting to order. The prom was in a few weeks, and until it was time to set up, there wasn't much Anne had to do. The food committee was the one being raked over the coals, and she was glad someone else was in Christine's sights the rest of the meeting.

Tim left the meeting first, and Anne hurried to catch up, but half way down the hall she realized she'd left behind the seating chart they'd drawn up. She walked swiftly back to the class, but paused outside when she heard voices.

"It's just not fair," Brenda said. "If it was anyone else they'd be expelled."

"I heard he almost killed the guy he beat up," Christine said. "I don't know why boys like him think it's a blast to go around beating people up."

"He was kind of cute before," Trudy sighed. "Oh, don't look at me like that, y'all probably thought it too."

She heard Michael give a snorting laugh.

"I mean it, he was handsome. Now he looks like something out of a horror movie."

Anne felt her heart jump into her throat. Granted, the scar didn't look that great right now, but it was awful cruel to make fun of him for it. She didn't know exactly what happened – school gossip ranged from he was attacked by a crazed maniac to Tim cut his own face up – but she knew it bothered him. She remembered that look in his eyes as he'd seen his face in her mirror.

"Anyhow, I think Casing's crazy to let him stay. He's just no good," Christine said.

"If we're lucky, he'll screw up again and Casing won't have any choice but to kick him out of school," Michael said.

Anne moved against the lockers as she heard them moving from their chairs.

"And if he does screw up again and Casing doesn't do anything about it, I will," Christine said. "I'll see you guys tomorrow night for Barbara's party."

Anne moved into the recess of another classroom door and listened to their footsteps, moving the other way down the hall. She peeked out and saw them all heading for the far doors.

She let out a sigh. Maybe Tim was right about Christine. It wasn't hard to see she hated Tim on principle.

Anne glanced at her watch, then hurried down the hall in the opposite direction, hoping Tim was still around.

XXXX

Anne ran into Donna outside the auditorium and pulled her along with her towards the back entrance.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Meeting Tim."

Donna raised an eyebrow. "And why am I coming?"

Anne shrugged, and she tried to ignore the look Donna was giving her. Sometimes Donna was like a bloodhound with information.

Tim was loitering around the exit, and threw a smoked cigarette butt onto the ground, putting it out with his heel.

"Where'd you end up?" he asked.

"Eavesdropping," she said. "I hope it's okay Donna comes."

She was a little nervous about being alone with him after what happened the other night. Donna would be a good buffer.

"No skin off my nose." He paused. "Bad choice of words."

They walked to his car in the back parking lot and got in, Donna choosing to ride in the backseat.

"So what happened?" Annie asked as he backed out of the space.

"Cops picked me up at home," he said. "Spent some time in jail waiting on the arraignment. Judge dismissed the case, the guy wouldn't talk."

"The guy you beat up?" Donna asked. "Boy, you should hear the rumours people are going on about. You'd think you just about murdered someone. I heard one girl in the hall say that you beat up six guys and let one get run over by a train."

Anne saw Tim chuckle. "Wasn't quite so melodramatic as that."

"What really happened?" Anne asked. "You didn't say much."

He glanced over at her and subtly nodded to the backseat. She guessed he wasn't ready to be that candid in front of Donna.

"Prom committee miss me?" he asked.

"You shoulda heard Christine," Anne sighed. "She acted like now we could get work done. So far we're out ahead. I mean, Christine and Michael have their stuff handled - all the tickets are gone - but Trudy's really falling short with food and drinks. Christine won't let up about it as you heard this afternoon."

"Gets you out of their sights."

"Yeah. I guess," she said.

She hadn't been so concerned about Christine the last few weeks. Maybe it was because she'd been worried about Tim, and Christine hadn't been paying her any attention.

"Is Mr. Casing letting you come back?" Anne asked.

"Yeah," Tim said. "Guess he had a visit from someone who told me how invaluable my work was. Seems Casing thinks he solved all the world's problems sticking me on that committee. He's got rocks in his head, seeing I just got outta jail."

"How's your face?" Anne asked. "Does it hurt?"

"Nah," Tim said. "I'll live."

He looked up into the rear view mirror, checking out the scar.

"Well, it just makes you look kinda dangerous," Donna said admiringly. "Not that you didn't before, but I don't think you'll have any problems scaring off the Socs now."

Tim snorted. "Didn't have a problem before that. 'Sides, I wasn't much to look at before."

"That's not true," Anne said quietly. "And you still look just fine, you know."

She could practically feel Donna's eyes boring into the back of her head from the backseat. Donna was her best friend, and it was a sure thing she knew something was up now. She wished she could have told her - she knew Donna wouldn't care - but Anne liked to think of it every now and then. Somehow, he seemed gentler, nicer, when he climbed in her window. Some of the rough patches had worn off him that night, at least for a little while. Maybe it was the alcohol he'd drank or the fact he was practically bleeding to death. Either way, every so often she thought of him lying in her bed, picking up her stuffed rabbit for her and not even teasing her about it. She wanted to keep that to herself.

"I overheard Christine, Brenda, Trudy and Michael talking about trying to get you in trouble with Mr. Casing if anything else happens," Annie said. "I hope if they do go talk to him it'll look like sour grapes to Casing since I got there first."

"Don't matter," Tim said. "He's agreed to let me back in and I don't plan on going anywhere. We get this prom done, then it's just exams. I'll pass and he won't have a say anymore."

When they pulled up to the Dingo, Donna urged Anne to stay in the car while she and Tim got drinks. Donna was probably going to pump Tim for any information she could. Anne knew she knew something was up, and bit her cuticles the moment they left the car.

XXXX

"Are you and Anne dating?" Donna asked.

"No. Why'd you think that?" Tim approached the doors of the eatery and held it open for Donna.

She shrugged, her dark hair bobbing against her shoulders. "No reason. You just look kind of close is all."

Tim looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Alright, so I noticed how she was looking at you. Like something happened."

Tim decided to lay it out – some of it, anyway.

"She helped me out the night I got hurt," he said. "That's all."

"You keep telling Anne she's not a very good liar, but you have your moments too," Donna said, looking at him with a cool glance. "You remember what I said? I don't want her getting her feelings hurt. She was trying to play it off like she's wise to what they're up to, but with you gone she was their lapdog. That's why Christine and Michael got everything done. Anne manned the ticket booth every single day after school. All Christine's been doing is shopping for jewellery to match her stupid dress."

"Christine's gonna be plenty disappointed with prom then."

Tim ordered three Cokes and handed one of them to Donna.

"Why?" the girl asked, her eyes narrow. "What are you going to do?"

Tim just looked at her and gave her a wink. "Don't mind your head about it. You going to this prom?"

Donna shrugged. "If I get asked, and I think this boy in my English class will ask. Why? Do I not want to go?"

"Didn't say that."

Tim took the other two Cokes and turned away from the counter, Donna at his elbow.

"Just be careful. She's a nice girl, Tim, and from what I've seen she's been nothing but nice to you," Donna said. "Don't do anything stupid."

He raised a Coke at her in mock salute. Donna would make a first rate Army General.

"Marjorie's over there, I'm going to go home with her," Donna said. "I guess you probably wanted to tell Anne what really happened in private. Thanks for the drink."

Donna turned and went over to her friend, a redhead that was always after Jimmy. Donna was something else. He wondered why, with a friend like that, Anne couldn't adopt some of her attitude and not care what people thought. She wasn't offended he wanted her to beat it out of there, and she didn't care about the Socs.

He strolled back to the car and got in the driver's seat, the window down. It was warm, the hot sun out in full force. Anne was chewing on her nails, and she took the Coke nervously.

"So what happened? What did Donna want to talk about?" Annie asked him.

"Just wanted to know about my face."

"I don't believe you, but I want to know what happened that night. Will you tell me?"

He took a sip of the Coke. "Got drunk, got jumped. The other guy got one up on me for a minute, slashed my face. I took him down after that. Cops caught up with me, put me in jail, but the guy withdrew his complaint and wouldn't press charges."

"Why not?" Annie asked, her eyes narrowed.

"He'd have to admit to what he did, and assault with a weapon's a bigger charge that physical assault," Tim said easily. "He didn't wanna go away any more than I did."

Annie seemed to accept the explanation and drank her Coke in silence. "Look, I'm sorry about that night."

"Nothing to be sorry for."

She looked over at him to judge if he was serious. Her face was easy to read – she looked sad. Part of her might have wanted to sleep with him that night, a bigger part didn't. He couldn't lie to himself and think it was the scar – he knew it wasn't.

She was the type of girl that wanted him, not just a good time. She'd end up suffocating him, expecting things he couldn't give. She was the type of girl that wanted love, and he couldn't love her. Maybe he couldn't love anything.

"Your poor face." She reached out to touch his left cheek, and he moved away from her hand. She recoiled like she'd been burned.

"Annie," he said.

"Look, I have no idea what I'm doing, alright?" she said desperately. "I like you, I like you a lot, but - "

"It's okay. It's better we don't do this."

For more than one reason, he thought. For a wild second he thought about letting Annie in on everything, but he squashed the idea almost immediately. She'd be too upset. Just like when he stole that shit from the discount store, she'd want him to go tell somebody. Hell, she'd probably do it herself.

He looked at her sitting in the passenger seat, her Coke untouched and her eyes wet. Dammit, he hated it when chicks cried. She didn't want to make it with him, but she was fine dragging things out forever. He wasn't gonna walk around school holding her hand and all that shit she probably wanted.

He'd spent the last few weeks telling her not to fight what she was, and maybe what she was was a lower middle class girl. Not a greaser girl. Not someone who was going to give it up to him in the backseat of a car. Maybe that was okay.

"You going to this prom?" he asked.

She nodded. "Nobody asked me, but then it's probably because I'm so busy with the committee. I'm gonna go myself, I should be there, don't you think? Anyway, my mom spent forever sewing my dress. What about you?"

"Dunno yet," he lied. "Depends on what would drive Casing crazier."

Annie laughed at that. They sat together for awhile longer, their conversation stilted and uneasy, then he drove her home.

* * *

**A/N:** So is Tim distancing himself because he actually likes her, is trying to prep her for his coming betrayal ... or he just doesn't give a damn?


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.

**Author's Note: **Seems that the site's alert system went down for awhile, so make sure you've read the previous chapters if you didn't get an alert. I didn't receive review alerts, but I see I had some reviews, so thank you - not sure if my replies went through.**  
**

For those of you that also read at AO3, I have posted all my fics up there as well. My username is the same as here.

* * *

**Chapter 16 **

_**Friday, April 30, 1965**_

The next few weeks were slow, mind numbing drudgery every day. Classes went on, prom meetings went on, and eventually, people stopped reacting whenever they saw him in the hall.

Almost three weeks later and the scar was still angry and red, but the stitches were out. He looked at it in the mirror every night. On one hand, he'd scare the shit out of everyone he came across from now on. On the other, just try and get laid with a face like that.

The girls still looked at his face with disgust, but he'd have to get used to that. A lot of the boys either looked at the scar with admiration or fear. Either worked for him.

Tim spent most of the time keeping his head low. He went to classes, went to prom meeting, kept his mouth shut and his head down. Pretty soon, Casing seemed to forget all about his arrest, and it was like it never happened.

Annie made herself kind of scarce after their trip to the Dingo. He'd seen her in the halls and at prom meetings, but she had busied herself getting ready for the prom, telling him how her mother needed her to wear the dress she was sewing together since they didn't have a dress form.

With the end of the year approaching, Annie was ushering at a lot of school events, too. He didn't know whether she was avoiding him on purpose on not, but he let her run things her own way. If she wanted to make herself scarce, he wasn't about to stop her.

He spent the weekends at Buck's with Carolyn, whose hurt feelings about Annie were forgotten after a couple of drinks and a night in bed. She'd frowned at his face, and asked him why he had to be so much trouble getting his face shredded to ribbons, but she still ended up underneath him at Buck's, and that was all that really mattered. She was his type – a greaser girl, dyed blonde with a rack and a mouth on her, and he liked her that way. They were the same sort, and the ease that they slipped back into a routine of not-exactly-dating was just fine with him.

Friday afternoon, Tim left prom meeting and hit Casing's office, the principal barely acknowledging he'd been there. He had the distinct impression Casing was disappointed Tim wasn't fucking up more. That was Casing's problem – he expected fuck ups from someone who could see what he was expecting.

He ran into Jimmy having a smoke outside the auditorium, dressed in his costume for the musical. He didn't look half bad, dressed like some kind of old time gangster or something, but he looked morose when he spied Tim outside.

"You ain't said a word to anyone about prom, right?" Tim asked.

Jimmy shook his head. "Can't say nothing to nobody. If I put anything in my head that ain't these lines, I think my head might explode."

"Jim!"

Tim glanced over to see the pushy redhead come out the stage door.

"Put that out right now! You are in so much trouble, you can't be smoking while you're in costume! What is Mrs. Barstow gonna think? We go on in just a few hours!"

"Aw, Marj, lay off, huh?"

Come to think of it, ol' Jimmy looked a little green around the gills. Marjorie shut the door with a harumph and a slam and Jimmy shook his head.

"I'll be glad when this is all over."

"You're the idiot that signed up for it," Tim pointed out.

"You know that ain't true, those girls, they roped me into it. An' I can't back out now."

"Why not?" If it was him – and it wouldn't ever be – he'd cut out with no problem. Jimmy was usually smooth with the girls, and Tim was surprised it was taking him this long to close the deal with the chick he joined for.

"I can't back out because my parents are coming tonight," he sighed. "Can you believe it? My momma's acting like I'm getting an Academy Award. Jesus, this is some shit."

The door creaked open again, and Marjorie stood there, giving Jimmy a look. He threw his cigarette down, ground it out and then threw Tim a look of disgust as he went back into the auditorium, looking like a man headed to the gallows. Tim suspected Jimmy wasn't getting any play with the Marilyn Monroe look-alike he joined up to impress. Nope. Not one bit for a look like that to be on his face.

He smiled wryly. At least this play would be good for some laughs tomorrow. He'd scored tickets for just about everyone in the gang and some greasers hanging around Buck's.

Tim lit a smoke and leaned against the wall, waiting on Annie.

There was only a week until it was prom night. The musical was on tonight and the next night, then the stage pieces from the musical would be free to set up in the gym. Annie was dragging him to pick up the helium today and they'd store it in the principal's office until the night before prom when they'd set up. Annie had bought so many packs of balloons they'd be blowing them up until he was an old man.

He had scored rolls of crepe paper from Spencer's Special, and ended up with way too many rolls of white that didn't leach any dye at all when they got wet. Bill came up with the solution, and the entire gang had gotten together to dye them the night before.

That had been a night - seven hoods in Buck Merril's basement, dyeing roles of crepe paper with vegetable dye all night long. Black, red, and they even dyed the white stuff white with Rit dye and didn't fix it. It looked like a blood bath, and Tim had to throw out all the clothes he had on that night, since it looked like he'd murdered someone. He was smart enough to steal some disposable gloves from the hospital when they'd taken him to get his face stitched up, so his hands looked just fine. The only thing that was a mess on him was his face.

Hamilton and Roth had figured out they could trigger the gym sprinklers from the boiler room. They'd managed to steal a key from the janitor and had it copied, so they had full access. Their little plan of ruining prom was the only thing those knuckleheads ever talked about. It may have scored him some points with the boys, letting them blow off steam this way, but he was more interested in the cars.

Before their meeting on Monday, he'd suggested to Annie that they limit access to the school – only the front school door, gym doors and the bathrooms closest to the gym would be unlocked. He told her it was just a thought since if he was going to do anything at prom, having limited access would stop him.

Annie had run with the idea and Christine had begrudgingly admitted it was a good idea. The principal was all over it, thinking it'd curtail any underage drinking in the parking lots if people could only get in and out through the front of the school.

Tim was gonna put a couple of his guys in charge of keeping the back parking lot clear. Adam Barnes would be a good choice since he was a big guy.

He planned to help Annie decorate - he was hoping the dye wouldn't leach off the crepe paper too badly when they were setting up. If he could put his boys on the decorating end of things, no one would be the wiser.

His cigarette was almost smoked to his fingers when Annie finally showed up.

"Hi, sorry I'm late," she said. "Christine stopped me in the hall. She wants me to redo the centerpieces."

"Did you tell her to go fuck herself?" Tim asked.

"No," Annie said, looking at him wryly. "But I did tell her if she didn't like them she could do them over."

Well, there was hope for her yet, Tim thought.

"I was thinking," Tim said. "We're gonna need a few extra hands to set up prom."

"I know," she sighed. "Donna said she might be able to help, but nobody wants to set up."

"I can have my boys come next Friday," Tim said. "I give it as an order, and they'll be there."

"Really? Even though none of 'em are coming to prom? At least that I know of."

"They'll do it," Tim said. That was his boys could put up all the crepe and he wouldn't have to worry about anyone discovering its propensity for raining dye.

"That'd be great," Annie said in relief. "I think Christine was expecting I'd stay all night and not even go to prom."

Which would probably be best for her. He was torn about warning her. Maybe there was something he could do at the prom to distract her and get her out of the gym before Ray and Carl made it rain at ten o'clock.

They made it to the store and picked up a tank of helium and more balloons than Tim thought they'd ever need.

"We need to start blowing them up after school next week," she said. "Otherwise we'll never get them done. Have you ever used this stuff before?"

"Nah," he said, thinking twice about lighting a cigarette when he had a tube of helium in the backseat. "We'll figure it out. Don't wanna blow 'em up too early though, or they'll deflate, an' I ain't doing this shit twice, Annie."

She'd stuck her tongue out at him, and for a moment, things seemed normal between them again. But her smile faded, and she ended up staring out the window on the drive to her place. She thanked him all prim and proper when she got out.

He watched her walk inside her house, then slammed the car into gear and went to find Bill. They had planning to do.

XXXX

He found Bill at his place, and the two of them took a drive to Ponca City. Bill's uncle was coughing up a lung on his couch, a ratty blanket over his legs, and him all hooked up to an oxygen machine and still trying to smoke. His wife screeched bloody murder at him and he turned off the oxygen long enough to smoke on the porch, his cough sounding like skeletons rattling in his chest.

He was confused about the building until Bill broke it down for him why they needed it.

His uncle, a roughneck ex-con, had a good laugh over the part where Bill said the fuzz would hate it, and the man drew up a crude contract right then and there.

"You take that with you," he said, scrawling his name on the bottom of the contract, making Bill sign his own. Tim kept quiet, watching the man to see what he'd do next. He drew another line at the bottom and nodded at Tim to sign.

He was pleased. He didn't like having to announce he was the leader of their gang – Bill hadn't said a word about him being in charge – but he liked that his uncle seemed to get it anyway. Bill wasn't the type to take credit, but he hadn't piped up about letting Tim sign either.

"Lemme find the keys," his uncle said, shuffling into the house, his coughs echoing into the house.

"This is gonna be great," Bill said.

"We'll see." He didn't want to get his hopes up about the building.

His uncle came shuffling back out with a set of keys on a round key chain. Tim spotted keys for doors and locks, more than he could count.

"The building ain't got no can. When I sold half the building they took the side with the can. Mebbe they'll let you use it, I dunno. I think there's still some shit inside, and it's probably missing half the windows if I know all them yahoos wandering around downtown Tulsa, breaking out anything with glass in it. No matter, you just take care of it how you see fit."

Tim had thanked him briefly, hoping his boys hadn't been the ones to destroy the building. He and Bill got back in his car and raced back to Tulsa, getting a speeding ticket in their eagerness to see the building. Tim bunched it up and tossed it in the glove box with the others.

They found the building downtown without too much trouble, but by the time they got there it was dark. The batteries in Tim's flashlight were dead, and that was the end of that. The building looked alright from the outside. Banks of widows covered the front and back, and it looked big enough to hide just about anything. This could be a game changer for the Shepard gang. Nobody had a headquarters, and this was perfect for it.

"We'll come back tomorrow afternoon," Tim said. "I wanna check it out before we show the boys. Man, this is gonna change things."

XXXX

**Saturday, May 1, 1965**

Tim was pleased with the building.

He'd unlocked the Yale lock on the door, and the door fell off in his hands, the hinges busted. He had Bill find a piece of corrugated metal to serve as a door until they could get it fixed.

Inside, the plain concrete floor was covered in a scrim of dust. There was a car shell up on blocks in the back, a bank of windows facing the alley, some of which were busted out, and the others facing the street so dirty he couldn't see through them. Piles of construction shit were up against the front windows, which was fine with him. The less people knew about what was going to go on here, the better.

Pigeons flew inside, and he found at least one nest in a corner. There was construction trash around, but a good sweeping would clear most of it out.

The best part was the fact the electricity worked. He assumed it was because of the company next door. He could hear the whir of machinery, the sound bleeding through the cinderblock walls. The bathroom might be an issue, but he discovered one of the set of keys opened the door. He took a quick peek through and saw the can was just on the inside of the door, hidden in a hallway. They might be able to get away with using it.

The long hall they had was separated into four rooms. One of them would make a first rate office for him. He could find an old desk, some chairs. The others could be decent rooms to lay over for the night, hide out from the cops. All they needed was some mattresses. A few couches out in the main room of the warehouse, and this was shaping up to be a big fucking windfall for the Shepard gang.

Tim brought Curly down after he and Bill gave the place the once over and decided it'd fit their needs.

"Holy shit!" Curly said as he looked around inside. "Tim, this place is great."

Curly kicked up a cloud of dust as he hurried from room to room, checking out the hallway. A little while later he handed Curly a mess of dimes and told him to hit up a pay phone and call the other boys down.

They all showed up , all of them crowing over the building.

"I'm gonna need y'all to clear this place out, good as you can," he said. "Leave the windows though, leave that shit piled up in front of the ones in the front. I don't want the fuzz getting word of this and hanging out here all day. We got a contract of sorts to be here, but you know the fuzz."

"We gotta get some chairs," Curly said.

"I can bring some of the furniture outta my grandma's barn," Pete said. "She ain't even remember it's there. I know there's a couch there, and maybe some tables too."

"While we're in the school, why don't we pick up some chairs and shit?" Ray suggested. "They won't even notice if a few things going missing."

Tim was impressed with the idea, but didn't let Ray know it. "Anyone got a truck?"

"I can get my old man's truck, I guess," Adam said. "When do you wanna do this?"

Tim gave a wicked grin. "When do you think?"

Adam grinned back. "Prom night's gonna go pretty good for us, huh Tim?"

He gathered the boys around. "We hit the cars as soon as possible – when it's dark. I want y'all in dark clothes, but put some effort into it, like you were aiming to be at this shindig legit. It'll be a decent cover if anyone catches you out there. I want you to take anything on those cars that ain't nailed down."

"You still want me to talk to Randle?" Bill asked.

"I'll come with you," Tim said. "It means Dallas is gonna hear about it. I want y'all watching for him, he'd fuck this up if he thought there was something in it for him."

"What about the furniture and stuff?" Carl asked.

"You guys are on the cars. While some of you are hitting the cars, me and Bill will snag some stuff," Tim said, hitting on an idea that had a lot of promise. It wasn't fit to share – not yet – but he thought the idea had merit. "Ten o'clock comes, Hamilton and Roth are setting off the sprinklers and fire alarms. We beat it out of there as soon as everyone's in the parking lot. No one's gonna notice us coming or going with that kinda chaos."

"Casing's gonna know it's you," Curly said.

"Knowing and proving are two different things," Tim said. "I want everything stashed here. Tell no one about this place, unless you want the fuzz crawling all over it. You even breathe a word, and you'll be pissing in a tube."

The boys barely heard him, their excitement over the potential score too great.

"I'm gonna need you all on Friday, too," he said. "All that crepe paper's gotta go up in the gym. Now, I don't want any Soc asshole figuring out that crepe is gonna bleed like a virgin on prom night - no pun intended - so I volunteered us all to help set up the decorations. Ya'll wear gloves and listen to what Annie says about where shit goes. Not a word about anything - nobody else knows shit about this."

"Do we have to?" Ray groused. "I mean, hanging around that school when we don't even have to ... it's unnatural."

"Well guess what? You have to," Tim said. "Feel better about it now? Be there at three. The gymnasium. And I don't want any of you asswipes getting into it with the Socs or anyone else. We need every set of hands we can get prom night, and I'm not about to lose a single one of you to the fuzz before this thing ever starts, you got it?"

Everyone agreed, and Tim watched them all leave the building, talking about all the shit they were going to get to make the place look good.

They were going to have a pretty good hangout, but only if they kept their mouths shut about it. The minute people knew where they were, they were fucked.

"We need a door for this place," Tim said. "And some padlocks. You wanna go on a run?"

Bill nodded his agreement. "You know, I never got to go to my prom. Closest I got was scoring with Barbara Miles in the back of a Chevy at the movies that night. I'm actually looking forward to this prom."

"More than Barbara Miles?" Tim asked wryly.

"The girl was a disappointment, I'll say that much," Bill said. "I don't think this prom is gonna be one."

* * *

**A/N:** We're getting close to prom ... not sure how many chapters are left here, since I'm re-writing the entire end.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.

**Author's Note: **Thanks for all the reviews everyone. I seem to be back in a groove with the re-writing. I'm hoping to have an update by Tuesday.

* * *

**Chapter 17**

**Monday, May 3, 1965**

Tim rolled out of bed Monday morning, cracking his neck with a satisfying pop.

It had been a good weekend. Maybe not for Jimmy or Two-Bit Mathews, but damn that musical had been more than he bargained for.

He looked in the bathroom mirror. His eye was swelling a little, a cut flecked against his pale skin. The scar, angry and red, was still sitting on the side of his face. It caught him by surprise every so often – he kept forgetting it was there.

He headed to school Monday morning and sat through classes, then checked in with Casing before heading to the meeting. Anne was hovering outside the classroom.

"Everyone's gone to the gym," she said. "We're trying to figure out where to put all the set pieces. We can't set it up permanent until Friday afternoon because they need the gymnasium for gym classes. Christine had a conniption fit over that."

She cocked her head, her little ponytail bobbing. She was studying his eye.

"I never thought I'd see the day when Mr. Casing threatened to cancel school musicals for the foreseeable future. I hope you're happy," she said.

He managed a grin. "You got no idea, Annie."

"You're terrible. Everyone worked so hard on it," she sighed.

"Wasn't my fault," he said. For once, it was the truth. It was kind of nice to sit back and watch someone else get in trouble for a change.

He walked with Annie down the empty hallways, his boots echoing against the linoleum. She held her books tight to chest.

He looked her over. She wasn't exactly like Carolyn West, but there was a sameness there. He supposed he had to admit he liked blondes, since he couldn't remember a single dark-haired girl he'd dated. Annie had nice curves, but the way she dressed was a bit too prim and proper, even after all his attempts to get her to loosen up at Buck's. Where Carolyn would play up her figure to get what she wanted, Annie played up the cute and innocent side of things.

She was his type, but she wasn't. He couldn't put a finger on why until she started to jabber on about Christine and Brenda. She liked that scene too much. Maybe that was it. She liked the rich kids, wanted to be like them, and maybe wouldn't be happy if she wasn't.

Her loss.

He yanked open the gymnasium door and found Christine, clipboard in hand, arguing with Michael and where each set piece was going to go. Tim took a seat against the gym wall and barely listened. It wasn't like they'd ask him what to do anyway. Only a few more days and all this hell would be over.

He looked up at the ceiling. It was going to be hell getting all the crepe up there. He spotted the silvery sprinkler heads dotting the rafters and did his best not to smile. He had to admit, there was going to be some poetry about Christine Weston looking like a drowned rat at her own prom.

He watched Annie, tagging along behind Christine and waving at him to join her. She'd have another prom next year.

This one was his.

XXXX

Annie had run back to her locker for something, and Tim had a quick smoke after the meeting. The school was quiet and deserted, and he slipped back inside intent on retrieving Annie and getting the hell out of there. Christine had probably roped her into something.

He headed up the stair way and paused to get a drink from the fountain when he heard the voices.

"Yeah, I caught Casing right before he left."

Tim slipped into the recess of a classroom door. That was Ken Doll's voice.

"What'd you say?" Michael this time.

"I just told him what we agreed, that Shepard wasn't pulling his weight. I told him Anne's been covering for him."

"What'd he say?"

"Not much. Thanked me for coming in. Looked down his nose like usual. You need to go see him tomorrow. Maybe in the morning so it doesn't look staged. Mention the same things to him. The more he hears it, the better," Ken said.

Tim rolled his eyes. Of course those two dipshits were trying to sink him this close to prom. That was what he hated about Socs. They never admitted they were outplayed by the greasers, and especially not him. He didn't think Casing would buy their stories, but then, who knew with principals. They kind of lived for fucking people over.

"Casing's not too happy about the musical. Shepard was there with those kids he calls a gang, and I bet Casing thinks he was involved. I could tell him Shepard started the whole thing."

"How?" Ken said. A locker slammed shut. "Casing was there. He knows who started it."

"Shepard decked a guy, I saw him."

"So did half the student body."

Their voices got quieter as Tim heard their footsteps move down the hall and away from him. He went downstairs and out the side door again.

"There you are!"

Annie rushed to his side.

"I looked everywhere," she said, trying to keep pace with his strides. "Where'd you go?"

"Nowhere." He lit another cigarette. "Come on, I gotta drop you off."

"What's the rush?" she said, struggling to match his strides.

"Got things to do."

"Well, Thursday you're blowing up balloons in the gym, no question," she said. "Christine went to talk to Mr. Casing just now, and he said we could have the gym after school Thursday and all day Friday so we can set up early."

He wondered what else Miss Christine had said to Casing.

"Come on," he said, nodding towards his car. "I got things to do."

XXXX

He hit the Dingo to cool off, watching all the kids hang out in the lot, showing off their cars and their girls. A couple kids got in a fight and the fuzz showed, and that was his cue to bail.

As he waited to turn out onto the street, he saw Randle's car speed by. Bill was supposed to talk to him, but Tim saw the opportunity and pulled into traffic. He jammed the car into gear, tailing Randle until they reached the DX. He pulled the Mainline against the side of the building and got out.

The DX station was busy, mostly girls coming by. He watched the parade for a few minutes, leaning against his car to have a smoke. He was far enough from the pumps that it wouldn't matter, but the Curtis that worked here kept giving him rotten glances. He didn't like the kid – he was too pretty looking, like a Letterman jacket would have him sitting right next to Michael or Ken, but he and Randle were sophomores, and as a result, no one paid them any attention. They both worked the DX after school, and Tim had some idea why now.

The girls pulling up were all kinds – some of their kind, and a hell of a lot more Socs than should be close to this side of the town. The girls flirted and giggled, setting his nerves on edge.

"Heard that muffler the whole way here," Randle said, wiping grease off his hands and stuffing the rag into his back pocket. "You need a new one?"

Tim shook his head. "Nah. It'll keep. Wanted to talk to you about something."

Tim nodded toward the side of the building, where a single garage door was. The bay was empty, but the smell of oil hung dense in the heated air. He stepped inside into the shade and Randle followed, watching him with suspicion.

"You interested in a job?" Tim asked.

"Got one." Randle gestured around.

"One night," Tim said. "Pulling carburetors and shit."

Randle gave him the side eye. "I ain't looking to get picked up for auto theft. Spending time downtown ain't my idea of a good time."

"It ain't auto theft," Tim said. "We're not taking the cars. It's theft from an auto."

"Well, that's totally different," Steve said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "It'll still net me in a reformatory."

Tim gave wry smile. "You that shit at stealing you're gonna get caught? From what Dally says you're the fastest man when it comes to hubcaps."

Randle shrugged. "Hubs are easy. Carburetors take time. Depends on the type of car, that sort of thing."

Tim took in a deep breath and wandered around the shop, picking up car parts and setting them down. The tools alone in this joint were worth something, and if he worked here, he'd walk out with them at the end of the day.

Randle seemed to have an inkling about what was on his mind because he snatched a timing belt out of hands and set it back down on the table.

"We'd need you for one night. An hour tops."

Randle looked over at him, his brows knitted together in confusion. "That's it?"

Tim nodded. "How many can you pull in an hour?"

He seemed to be working it out in his head, and that's when Tim knew he had him.

"Depends. A few."

"Say you got a parking lot fresh for the picking. I know there's a couple '64 Mustangs, a '63 Nova hardtop for sure, a '64 GTO convertible … "

"Wait a minute," the kid said. "What colour GTO?"

Tim shrugged. "Red, I think."

"I seen the kid who drives it. Some hot shot Soc at Rogers," Randle said, taking the rag from his pocket and running it through his fingers. "You're gonna boost their cars? You're crazy."

"Not boost," Tim corrected. "We're gonna strip 'em bare."

"How? You show up anywhere close to the South side you'll be in jail before you know it."

"I know," Tim said, leaning back against a work table. "That's why we're hitting the cars at prom."

Randle's expression was a dawning realization of why Tim was still on the prom committee – at least that's what Tim was banking on everyone thinking when they heard. He'd make some money and salvage his rep, all in one night.

"All those cars'll be in the lot that night."

Tim nodded. "We got things set up to keep people out of the parking lot. My boys are gonna hit as many cars as we can – radios, floor mats, shifters, hubs, tires if we can get 'em off the rims, you name it."

"Then why do you need me?"

"Because as good as my boys are, you're better with the mechanic stuff. We can get a good price on the carburetors and anything else you can pull from the engines. We'll cut you in ten percent."

Randle's laugh was derisive. "See you later, Tim."

"Twenty percent."

"We split it fifty-fifty or no deal," the kid said, impressing Tim with his bargaining skills. "You don't have me, you don't get them. I'd say getting half of what you can sell them for is more than fair."

Tim nodded his agreement. "Alright. But I got one condition."

"What's that?"

"You can't say a word to anyone. This gets out, we all go down. You start talking before the job is done, and you'll be hanging for it."

"I ain't gonna run my mouth," the kid said. Tim didn't believe it.

He walked toward the garage door, the heat waving off the ground outside.

"Meet in the back parking lot at Rogers, eight o'clock on Saturday night. Look for Bill. He'll tell you what's what." Tim turned to the kid. "I mean it about opening your mouth. I'll break your face if I see a cop show up."

Tim held out his hand. Randle looked at it, wary again, then shook it.

Tim walked to his car. It was like an oven inside, but he didn't feel the heat. All he could think about was the potential windfall his gang was looking at.

XXXX

**Wednesday, May 5, 1965**

Tim sat in his trig class, bored out of his mind. He wished the teacher would just shut up and give them some problems to do or something. Anything to stop the droning voice, which was putting him to sleep.

The classroom door clicked open and Mr. Casing was there. Tim had a moment of déjà vu, remembering Casing's arrival to stick him on prom committee.

Like a bad dream, Casing called his name.

"My office."

He resisted rolling his eyes, but ran through a mental list of what Casing could want. He hadn't done anything this week, at least that he could remember.

There was no way Casing could have any idea what was being planned. As he walked behind the principal, it suddenly dawned on him that Michael must've visited Casing.

Sure enough, Casing offered Tim a seat in one of the uncomfortable chairs before settling back into his own.

"I've been told you aren't pulling your weight with the prom committee."

"Is that right?" Tim asked.

"I've had two students report it."

Tim sat there, looking at Casing with a stone face. It was always a better plan to sit back and see what the other person would let loose.

"But I've also had another student practically beg me to let you back on the committee," he said. "She said you were, and I'm quoting here "a Godsend". I was afraid she had mistaken you for someone else."

Tim nipped a smile in the bud. Annie sure was good at exaggeration.

"Two against one, though, Timothy," Casing said. "What's your side of it?"

"My side says two against one ain't fair odds," Tim said. "I think you know that."

Tim looked at Casing without blinking. Casing wasn't blind, he wasn't stupid. It was burning him up the principal was acting like it.

"All three students have good records, no trouble," he said.

"Yeah, and I bet they don't live north of the train tracks neither," Tim said.

"Where they're from doesn't make any difference."

"Sure it does. You know it as well as I do," Tim said, trying to keep a lid on his anger. "A rich kid comes in here and tells you the greaser's not doing shit, and you believe him without question. If it was the other way around, you wouldn't listen to a damn word I'd say."

"I don't tolerate that kind of language here, Mr. Shepard," he said. "Detention. After school today and tomorrow."

Tim stood up, wishing he could kick a hole in the wall. He turned and headed towards the door.

"For the record, Mr. Shepard," Casing said. "I listen to all my students. The reason you haven't been pulled off this committee is because I believe you have been participating. And I think that's exactly the problem the other students are having."

Tim looked at him for a moment, then turned and left the office without another word.

XXXX

**Friday, May 7, 1965**

Thursday afternoon Anne spent most of the time after school blowing balloons up in the gymnasium. Alone.

She had no idea what had happened to Tim, but there she was, trying to figure out how to blow up helium balloons all by herself and tying them up with ribbon and then tying them down so they wouldn't float up into the rafters and pop on the hot lights.

On Friday everyone had met in the gymnasium to start setting up, and Anne saw Tim show up a bit late, but she was relieved to see he was carrying the box full of crepe he'd promised.

"Where were you?" Anne asked. "You promised."

"Detention," he said. "And I'm here now."

"Honestly, you couldn't go even a few weeks without detention?"

"Missed it too much," he said.

"We have a lot of work to do," Anne said. The others were gathered around a slew of tables, chairs and supplies for decorating. The set pieces from Guys and Dolls were lying on the stage and everything was in disarray.

The gym doors opened a few minutes later and she was surprised to see some of the boys from Tim's gang, although not as surprised as the rest of the committee.

"What's going on here?" Christine asked. "You can't be in here."

The boys looked over at Tim, who turned to Christine.

"We needed help decorating, so I got some," Tim said. "If you have a problem with that, I'll send them all home and y'all can help us move all those set pieces and set up those tables and chairs."

Christine looked like she was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"Fine," she said, turning away and removing herself to the bleachers, Brenda and Trudy on her heels. Michael, Ken and Jeffrey hovered in a little group, hands jammed into their pockets. Anne shook her head. They were not going to stand there all day doing nothing.

"Tim said you're the boss," Jimmy Lewis said to her. "Now, I'm no expert, but I say we put some of those lugs, like Adam and Curly, on the heavy lifting."

Anne looked over at Tim, who shrugged at her, a wry smile on his face.

"Well, alright," Anne said. "We got a chart here showing where all the tables and chairs are going. And the set pieces too, they're all up on the stage. I was going to start figuring out about the crepe paper."

Jim put a hand on her waist. "Now, I no Tim ain't no gentleman like me, but even I can see he ain't gonna let you get up on that ladder and break your neck before prom. You just tell us what colour goes where, an' leave it all to us, darlin'."

"Jim, you don't have to sweet talk me into letting you up in the rafters," she said. "I'm scared of heights, you boys can have at it."

The boys were already at work moving things, and she showed Jim her drawing of where things would go for the decorations.

"We're doing black and white together and then red and white together," she said. "See this drawing? They're going along the rafters from the stage to the bleachers over there. Then we're gonna twist them down together, so they look like a waterfall."

"You just sit back and watch the magic unravel."

"It unravelled quite a bit at the musical last week too," Anne said. "I'm aiming for this to be better."

Jimmy made a face. "Now, I know you ain't the type to rub it in, Anne. A real damn shame some people had to mess it up for the rest of us. You know, the serious thespians."

Jimmy was a serious something, and Anne didn't think it had anything to do with acting. He was something else, and she couldn't help laughing.

Anne left the boys to it, a little concerned they were up on ladders as high as they were, but aside from a bit of horsing around, they seemed to be doing okay.

She noticed Tim headed outside for a smoke and waylaid him at the door.

"Oh, no you don't," she said. "I hardly got through any balloons yesterday, you're gonna make friends with the helium tank."

Tim figured it out pretty quick and started blowing up balloons, but it took him awhile to get the art of tying them, and he refused to curl ribbon. His buddy Bill, who looked a bit too old to be hanging around a high school, ended up having a knack for ribbon curling once she showed him how to do it, but he insisted on doing it with a six inch switchblade.

"It'll hurt my rep to use scissors," he told her, a grin on his face.

Michael, Jeffrey and Ken reluctantly began to set up the folding tables, and Anne spent most of the afternoon putting out the table cloths. There were too many tickets sold to have enough chairs for everyone, but the food was going to be finger food - cupcakes and things like that - and most kids would probably be dancing anyway.

She watched it come together slowly, with black flooring put down for a dance floor, just like a 1920s cabaret.

They set up food tables and the boys even hung a few sparkling balls from the ceiling. The lighting rigs set up over the stage were going to be manned by one of the theatre students, and he showed up after dinner that night, bathing the room in coloured lights. By the time he was done, the place had really begun to look like a prom and not a gymnasium.

"The photographer will be here early tomorrow to set up," she said. "About an hour before the doors open, and then when we open, kids'll come in and go right over to this back drop to have their pictures taken. Did I tell you we had a few of the sophomore theatre girls volunteer to be candy girls? We had to call 'em that, Mr. Casing wouldn't let us call them cigarette girls."

"Casing's got a stick up his ass," Tim said.

"It looks nice, doesn't it?" she asked, looking at the yards and yards of crepe ribbon his friends had strung up. The lighting and the balloons everywhere hid a lot of the ugliness of the gym.

"You did alright, kid," he said.

"You helped," she said. "Actually, I don't think I could've done it without you."

The ladders came down as the work was done, and Tim's boys took off as soon as he let them. Christine and the girls had made themselves scarce the entire time, and the boys had taken off after the tables were set up, leaving Tim's gang to do most of the work. Christine came back to the gym when they were almost finished setting up, Michael towing behind her. Anne watched him for a second, and realized with a pang that he had a thing for Christine. She had no idea why she hadn't noticed it before – Christine certainly hadn't. Or maybe she had, and that's why Michael was always doing her bidding.

"Well," Christine huffed. "I'm surprised, Anne. It actually looks like a prom."

"Did until you got here. Looks a little more like a circus now," Tim said.

"You always such an asshole?" Michael asked.

"Most of the time," Tim agreed. He lit a cigarette.

"Not in here!" Anne said, hustling him towards the door. "I don't want this place smelling like cigarettes tomorrow, and with all this paper in here, you're liable to set fire to the whole place."

Anne locked up the gymnasium and handed the keys to Christine.

"All we have to do is get the food set up, and the band, and take tickets at the door," Trudy said happily. "It's going to be so wonderful. I can't wait."

Neither could Anne. She wandered out to the parking lot. Tim was leaning against his car smoking, and she figured he was waiting to give her a ride home.

She may not have a date, but prom was going to be wonderful. Christine had seemed impressed by her work, and by the fall, everyone would know she had a hand in this. Senior year was looking rosy already.

* * *

**A/N:** So next chapter might just be prom. It's taken me long enough, huh? lol


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.

**Author's Note: **It's that time all graduating kids wait for ... prom!

* * *

**Chapter 18**

**Saturday, May 8, 1965**

The next day Anne spent the morning at the hairdresser, a rare treat. She decided to wear her hair down, but the stylist did it in a nice flip that looked pretty on her, unlike when she did it at home.

Donna came over to borrow a pair of shoes. She was going with a boy from one of her classes.

"I'll see you there, Anne. Are you sure you don't want to get a ride with us?" she asked.

"Oh no, that'd be just awful barging in on you guys," Anne said. "No, I'll have my mother or father drop me off."

She didn't say anything else, but she assumed Donna knew she meant to have Tim drive her home.

She looked in the mirror as she applied her lip gloss. She wished she had a date. It may have only been her junior prom, but she knew how it would look, her wandering in there alone. That's why she had to go early enough that people would think she was so busy she didn't have time for a date.

She wondered if Tim would show up.

Prom was definitely not his thing, but she wondered if he'd come anyway, just to see what it was about. He might have to show up to appease Mr. Casing. That was alright with her if it got him to show up.

She couldn't picture him wearing a suit though.

She wondered what he'd be like as a prom date. He'd probably spend the whole night trying to get her in the backseat of his car, like he'd done at Buck Merril's house. Then he'd shown up in her bedroom in the middle of the night. She never thought she'd be the kind of girl that would let a boy like that in, but she had.

She'd thought a lot about him since that night. She wasn't ready for anything heavy with him, but she missed the subtle flirting.

She sighed, looking at herself in her mirror. He was never going to date her.

But it was prom, and prom night was for romance and magic. Maybe if he showed up he'd ask her to dance. She just wanted a little piece of that magic. It didn't matter that that's all it could be – she'd probably never see him again after graduation.

Prom was a night when a lot of the girls went all the way with the boys they were seeing. That wasn't going to happen, but she'd be kidding herself if she couldn't admit she wanted something, even with a boy who wouldn't be there the next day. Maybe he could give her a ride home or something.

Her parents were letting her stay out even later - one o'clock in the morning was almost unheard of, but she told them she'd have to stay behind after the prom ended at eleven thirty to help clean up and organize things. In truth, most of it was being cleaned up Sunday, and she'd just tell them it was a lot more work than they wanted to do in the middle of the night.

Her mother had finished her dress the other day. It was a pale off-white and it skimmed to just past her knees. She knew most of the senior girls would wear floor length dresses, but the junior girls usually wore something shorter to set them apart. They'd have plenty of time to wear a long dress and put their hair up when it was their senior prom.

Senior prom would be something. She might even make princess court and be asked by someone handsome. She didn't know quite who - most of the junior boys were kind of immature. Maybe she'd meet a college boy over the summer, and she could wear his fraternity pin to the prom. Christine would be so jealous she'd eat her hat.

She got dressed after dinner and slipped on a pair of low heels. She had her makeup perfect, and decided to wear the white elbow gloves her grandmother had sent her. She had a cute white coat to put on over top, but it was so hot out when she walked out to the car with her father she decided to just carry it.

"Are you sure you're alright going to this thing alone?" her father asked. "I know most of the girls must have dates."

"Well, I'm not most of the girls," Anne said. "I'm on the committee, there's just too much for me to keep an eye on during the prom, I'd feel bad making my date sit alone waiting on that all night."

She knew the rest of the committee had dates. Well, maybe not Tim. He hadn't mentioned anything to her about bringing anyone and she still didn't know if he'd show. Her heart felt stuck in her throat as she thought of him showing up with a girl. She hadn't even considered that and suddenly didn't feel too hot about not taking the car.

Her father dropped her off near the front of the school. She went inside the front doors and to the gymnasium, happy to see some of the committee had arrived and was preparing the food. The band was warming up on the stage and everything seemed ready to go.

"No date, Anne?" Christine asked. "That's too bad."

She didn't know what else to say to Christine. The girl was pigheaded about her, that was for sure. Anne had started thinking that maybe it wasn't enough to be in Christine's good graces. Maybe she'd be the prom queen next year. If Christine kept being a bitch to everyone no one would vote for her.

XXXX

Tim's car was parked three blocks away.

The sun was just dipping below the trees. He knew the committee was already there, and Anne was probably steaming mad he wasn't there to twirl ribbon, but he had more important things to do.

His boys were hidden around the parking lot. A few of the sophomores acting as ushers were keeping everyone out of the lot and directing all the prom attendees towards the front doors to get in the gymnasium. The back lot, aside from those arriving, was empty, save for the sea of cars. Tim could practically see the dollar signs.

"Everyone's set," Bill said, crouching near him at the back of a Mustang. "Randle just showed up, I'm gonna start him on the cars at the back of the lot, it'll be easier to hide. I'll keep an eye out and we'll start things up. I'll meet you by the front doors in a half hour?"

"Sounds good," he said.

Bill vanished into the twilight, and Tim worked at loosening the hubcaps on a Mustang.

"Well, well, well."

Tim looked skyward. He knew that fucking kid couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"You need something, Dallas?"

"Yeah," Dally said, crouching down and wrenching the hubcap off the Mustang. "To be cut in. You thinking about selling this, Tim? Huh?"

Tim looked over at Dallas. He was dressed in dark clothes, a cigarette hanging out of his fat mouth.

"You know full well what's going on. I take it Randle ran his mouth to you."

"Nope," Dally said easily, moving toward the front wheel and working the other hubcap off. "He told Soda. Soda told Two-Bit, and I bet Two-Bit told the whole damn North side."

They were worse than a bunch of high school girls.

"That's a nice outfit," Dallas said. "Where you headed, court?"

Tim stuck up a middle finger. He was wearing the only pair of dress pants he owned and a button down shirt, his leather jacket over top. He knew he'd have to go in the gym at some point, and it'd be easier to rescue Annie from Roth's waterfall if he could get past the door.

"What do you want?" Tim asked Dallas.

"Twenty percent."

"Go fuck yourself."

"Fuzz'll be interested in what you're doing here."

"Fifteen. Take it, or I'll smear your face on the pavement."

"Hey, hey, no need to get violent," Dally said, those sharp teeth reminding Tim of a shark. "Deal."

"Adam has a truck parked around the way. Move the shit there. Keep your eyes out for the fuzz. You run into trouble, you know the whistle?"

"I ain't stupid," Dallas said. "Christ, it'll be great to see their faces when this shindig is over."

"I don't plan on being around," Tim said. "If you know what's right, you won't either. Trust me on that."

Dally eyed him, and Tim could see he was about to ask what else was up, but Tim got up and slinked across the parking lot before Dallas had a chance.

XXXX

Anne watched all the students arrive with their dates, get their photos taken and mill around the food, the dance floor and the tables. Everything seemed to be going just fine.

Tim hadn't shown up yet, and Anne started to wonder if he was going to show up at all. She didn't know if Casing was going to require he attend.

Speaking of, she spotted the principal at the gymnasium doors.

"Mr. Casing," she said, hurrying over. "Have you see Tim Shepard?"

The principal raised his eyebrows and looked at her. "This doesn't look like his kind of party."

"So you weren't forcing him to attend?" she asked, a little disappointed.

Casing looked a bit taken aback. "I didn't force Mr. Shepard to join the prom committee. He had a choice."

Anne looked up at him. "Did he really? Seems he only had one choice if he wanted what everyone else could get."

She watched the expression on his face change, and her stomach soured. Mr. Casing had given Tim an impossible choice, and it wasn't fair. What made her sick is that Mr. Casing knew it as well as she did.

It wasn't fair Tim was having to play up against the rich kids at school, and the principal on top of that. All he wanted was to graduate just like everyone else. He was smart, and so what if he skipped his classes if he still passed. She admired Tim for that. Not all the greaser boys seemed to care about school, but he did. Casing didn't punish the ones who didn't care. He should've been helping Tim instead of punishing him for wanting more.

Anne looked at Casing and shook her head, then turned away and slipped into the crowd.

XXXX

Tim managed to jimmy the lock on a silver-grey sixty-four Fairline that Christine Weston had no business driving. He took her floor mats, the change he found in the glove box, he pried off the logos on the side of the car and wrenched off the side mirror. He probably wouldn't get jack shit for it, but it made him feel good. He looked at Ray, Carl and Pete.

"Take this one apart," he said. "Head to toe. Get Casing's too."

He left the boys to that, with strict instructions to start the water works at nine o'clock on the dot.

He went around to the front of the school, pausing outside to have a smoke. A few students milled around outside, and Tim saw a small group trying to huddle in the far stairway with some booze.

Tim took a drag, then turned around when the door creaked open. He almost groaned out loud when he saw Casing standing there.

"Mr. Shepard," he said. "I didn't expect to see you here."

Tim raised an eyebrow and blew a stream of smoke out the side of his mouth. "Seems I had to show."

"It was never a requirement," he said.

Tim looked the man in the eye. "Bullshit. You've been looking for a way to get me out here the whole time. You thought I'd take off on this and you'd have your reason."

Casing sighed, took off his glasses and polished them on his tie.

"Contrary to popular belief, I don't just sit around here dreaming of ways to make my students' lives hell." He popped his glasses back on. "In fact, I was hoping it'd inspire you to get more interested in the school."

"You can cut the bull," Tim said. "I'm outta here in a couple weeks, for good. I always was. This thing was just a way to stick it to me before I did that. Maybe you don't like that I got half a brain up here, or maybe you just don't like the fact you can't get rid of me as easy as you think. Either way, you didn't pick this to help me. You picked this to teach me a lesson."

Casing shifted his weight. "Did it work, Timothy? You're here, at a school prom, not dressed like a juvenile delinquent for the most part. You've got a nice girl in Anne Macdonald standing up for you. From what I saw inside the gymnasium, you did a wonderful job. Maybe it had a point. Might not have been one you like, but it worked, didn't it?

Tim resisted the urge to laugh. No point in showing his hand now. Casing would know just how well his lesson teaching went over in a little while.

"Mr. Casing?"

Tim took a long last drag and crushed his cigarette just as Christine came out of the double doors.

"We're ready for your speech," she said. "We have to hurry, we're running a little late getting to prom king and queen."

Christine wore a shorter dress in a blue and white lace, and Tim was glad to see it. She barely looked at him as she spoke to Casing and pulled the principal inside, hurrying down the hall with him.

Tim looked both ways around the entrance, then opened the door quietly and stepped inside.

He could hear the music drifting down the hall from the gym, and then heard the muffled sounds of someone talking into the microphone. Instead of heading straight ahead to the gymnasium, he slipped down the hall to the principal's office. Bill was already lurking outside.

"Thought you were Casing," he said. "I got the lock open already. I pulled Jimmy and Adam over to wait in the bushes. Adam's got the truck at the curb, we gotta do this fast."

Tim followed Bill into the outer office, covers on all of the typewriters. They moved toward the inner office door and Tim knelt down to look at the lock. He pulled on a set of leather gloves and Bill handed him a set of lock picks.

It took him a few minutes, but he finally got the first tumbler moving. Getting the hang of the lock, it took him only a few more seconds to pop the rest of them into place, and the lock gave an audible click when it opened.

Tim got up, placed his hand on the doorknob, and turned it. The door creaked open.

Bill gave an eerie laugh behind him.

They shut and locked the door behind them, giving themselves a minute to adjust to the darkness in the office.

When he could see, Tim walked over to the big desk and pulled the drawers open. He thumbed through everything, but there was nothing of interest. He dumped the contents on the floor.

Bill opened the window behind him and he could hear Jimmy and Adam whispering. Tim passed the drawers to Bill and Bill handed them out to Adam and Jimmy.

Once they got the drawers out, the desk itself was the big ticket item Tim wanted. It'd look good in his new office in the warehouse. He held his breath, getting Bill to help him move it to the window. Bill wailed on the wood frame when the corner got stuck on it, and Tim hoped they wouldn't have to leave it. Bill finally knocked the moulding off with a crowbar and they forced the desk up into the void. Tim had only one moment of panic when the desk got stuck. A few minutes later they'd worked it out of the wedge, and Jimmy and Adam took it and moved into the darkness.

Tim went to the bookcases, but there was nothing interesting there. He shoved all the books, awards and pictures to the floor.

"Come on," Bill said, already out the window and on the ground. "We don't got a lot of time."

Tim climbed out, pulling the window closed after him.

"I'll go make sure they get the desk in the truck and take off with it. I'll stash it and get back as quick as I can," Bill said. "We already made a run back to the warehouse with some of the car parts. Boys are still working, we're stashing the stuff in an abandoned yard a block away for now."

Tim glanced at his watch. He had a half hour before the water show.

XXXX

The kid taking tickets at the door asked Tim for his, but he took the kid by the neck and shoved him out of the way. After all the shit he'd done to get this thing set up, he wasn't paying to walk inside.

The gym was filled with people, and he wandered through the crowd trying to find Annie. The old watch he was wearing to keep track of time was exactly right. He had only twenty minutes to find her and get her out of the gym.

He had to admit it looked a hell of a lot more like a prom than he ever thought it would. The gym was bathed in pink light, and lots of students were dancing, drinking punch and sitting at the tables. He was happy to see all the crepe was still strung around the rafters.

He looked around the room, seeing Christine dancing with her Soc boyfriend, Michael lurking at the punch bowl watching them like he wanted to drown the boyfriend. He might get his chance yet.

Trudy was wearing an ugly long lace dress, her hair done up, and giggling with a gaggle of girls, including Holly Ann, who spotted him, paled, and darted off towards a table like he had leprosy.

He spotted good ol' Donna dancing with a poindexter kind of kid with shiny blond hair, but Annie was nowhere in sight. He looked down at his watch. Fifteen minutes to go.

The band was playing a slow song, and he made the rounds of the room again. People looked at him, their brows creased in confusion. He didn't really blend in, even with the pants and shirt. Maybe it was the leather jacket, and maybe it was the fact he still had his harness boots on, but he didn't look like these boutonniere wearing dipsticks, that was for sure.

Ten minutes.

He was about to say fuck it and leave when he spotted her near the food table, unbuttoning a pair of long white gloves at the wrist and tucking the glove up inside. She picked up a little cake and popped it in her mouth. He headed straight for her. The crowds didn't really part here like they did at the Dingo or Buck's, but he was relieved she was still at the table when he reached it.

"You came after all!" she said with a smile. "I'm glad. You look nice."

He looked at her for a minute. Her dress was white, and he tried not to cringe. She was going to look like shit if she got caught in here.

She wore white elbow gloves too, and carried a tiny purse with a chain strap on it. Her dress came to her knee, and he saw the little flowers that made up the straps and circled the bodice.

"Do you like it?"

She spun around a little, and her smile faded when he didn't reply.

"What's the matter?" she asked, a little wrinkle marring her forehead. Her lips were the colour of a ripe cherry, and she'd left her hair down, and it curled around the tops of her shoulders like spun gold. For a split second he wanted to take her to the backseat of his car and forget about all this prom bullshit.

"Nothing's the matter," he said. "You look fine. Good, even."

She smiled, but it was full of wariness. He glanced down at the watch. Five minutes. He took her by the elbow, and she looked up in surprise.

"Come take a walk with me," he said. He knew if he could get her behind the stage they'd be alright. There were no sprinklers backstage, and he'd managed to make sure one door was unlocked when he'd set up the day before. He only hoped it still was. He was the one person who wasn't going to be caught in here, no matter what.

"Now?" she asked. "They're going to announce prom court any second!"

Which is exactly why he wanted her to get a move on. The band stopped their song and the crowd clapped politely.

"You thinking someone's gonna call your name?" he asked, glancing up at the stage. "Annie, let's just go."

"You can wait five minutes," she said. "I just wanna see who wins."

"You know it's Brenda, the whole fucking world knows it's Brenda," Tim said. "Christine and Trudy and maybe Holly Ann for princesses, that is if she's not sucking some guy off in the parking lot."

"Tim, stop being crude. It's prom, I wanna see."

The drummer started doing a drum roll and the lead singer of the band, some dweeb named Wally, got up to the microphone to introduce the prom court. Tim left Annie at the table and moved towards the backstage entrance. Annie moved closer to the stage.

"Fuck," he swore. He walked back to her, pushing a few people out of the way.

"Annie!" Tim said, waving her towards the doors that led backstage. "Let's go."

He didn't want to be too obvious. He couldn't afford to have anyone realize he was trying to get her out of there because he knew what was coming. He looked at the watch. Only a minute or so left. He moved back towards the entrance to backstage. He wasn't about to get caught in this.

"What's got into you?" Donna asked, popping up at his elbow like a cartoon character.

He leaned into her, Donna's date backing up in surprise. "Get out to the parking lot, do it now."

Donna looked at him in alarm, then turned on her heel and fled through the backstage door.

"You, what's your name?" he asked Donna's date, who hadn't bothered to follow her. "Doesn't matter - see her? Go get her for me. Bring her out here or I'll turn your face into spaghetti. And for Christ's sake, hurry!"

He ducked backstage, not aiming to get soaked himself, not even for Annie.

Donna's date managed to get to Annie and pull her by the arm, but Annie struggled against him. He kept gesturing at her to leave and shrugging at her answers, begging her to leave. The princesses were announced to applause and fan fare, Christine and Trudy on the stage. Brenda and Ken were announced as King and Queen.

Amid the applause, Tim heard the ringing of an alarm, and then all hell broke loose.

The water turned on full force in the gym. Wet crepe started dripping everywhere, and people were screaming. The side gym doors were all locked, and people leapt over one another trying to get to them and open them. The crowd surged towards the doors heading into the hall, and people started shoving, pushing and screaming as a bottleneck formed. Black, red and white dye rained down on everyone.

Tim paused, losing sight of Annie, then he backed up and headed out the backstage door, as a crush of people headed toward him. He found the open stage door and shoved on it, moving out into the parking lot. People flooded out behind him, screaming, crying and soaked to the bone.

He circled around, trying to find Annie.

"What happened?" Donna asked, rushing up to him. "Where's Anne?"

"I dunno," Tim admitted. "I lost her."

Donna's mouth hung open as she saw all the people streaming out of the building. Faces had streaks of colour running down them, and one girl came out drenched in so much red it looked like she'd been stabbed to death.

"What did you do?" Donna said, her voice low.

"I'll find her, you stay here." Tim stepped into the crowd, looking around for Annie anywhere. He barely recognized some people. Girls were crying and boys were yelling at each other.

"Mr. Shepard!"

He paused when he heard Casing's voice and turned around slowly.

"What on earth is the meaning of this!" he boomed. Casing was soaked from head to foot. The right half of his face was dyed black, while the left half was streaked with white. He kept spitting out the water that ran down his face.

"What are you lookin' at me for?" he asked.

"You aren't wet," Casing pointed out.

"I was backstage," he said. "Plenty of people saw me. You tell me how I got the ability to turn sprinklers on from there."

Tim turned his back on the principal and searched through the crowds. As more students filed into the parking lot, Tim started hearing the outraged screams as the car owners realized they'd been broken into.

Tim could hear sirens in the distance. If his gang was smart, they'd already taken off.

"You stay right there," Casing said, catching up to him. "I know you had something to do with this. This was no part of our deal."

"Our deal was I join the prom committee," Tim said. "Done."

"Oh no," Mr. Casing said. "You are not getting away with this. My office, Monday after classes. Where we'll discuss either your plans for summer school or you repeating the twelfth grade."

"Mr. Casing!"

Tim recognized the short history teacher.

"I've got students left and right saying their cars were broken into. We've got missing hubcaps, missing tires, and - well, sir, your car is - "

"My car is what?"

Casing stalked off, forgetting all about Tim.

Tim watched the principal, knowing he was up shit creek. Regardless of the lack of proof, Casing was going to make sure he went down for this. The bastard wasn't going to let him graduate.

Tim tried not to think about it. He knew going in this could blow up in his face, and now it had. Well, shit.

The fire department rolled into the parking lot a few seconds later, and Tim resumed searching for Annie. He couldn't find her anywhere.

"We better get outta here," Bill said, coming up to him. "I saw O'Lafferty pull up. The boys all took off before the waterworks. I'll meet you downtown."

Bill disappeared into the crowd, and Tim headed towards the back of the parking lot, towards the street where his car was parked. He ducked behind some shrubs and headed for the street. Part way there, the hulking form of O'Lafferty stepped in front of him.

"I'm hearing stories of theft, damage of property," O'Lafferty started. "We'll get you on this one, I don't have any doubt about that."

"You bored, O'Lafferty?" Tim asked.

"I see a bunch of wet .. and ... God knows what else all over these kids, and you're the one dry one in the bunch, you know what that adds up to?"

"I figure you're gonna tell me," Tim said.

"It adds up to you. Put your hands behind your back."

Tim rolled his eyes and turned around. "You ain't got no proof, O'Lafferty. I was just here enjoying my senior prom, and some knucklehead set off the sprinkler system."

"Like I'm gonna believe you were at a prom."

"Best chance to get a little later on, you know," Tim said. O'Lafferty shoved him against the hood of a car, struggling to get his cuffs out.

"What are you doing? What are you arresting him for?"

Tim turned around at the sound of Sylvia's voice. She was wearing a red dress, but was dry as a bone.

She walked up to O'Lafferty.

"Young lady, stay out of this, this is official police business."

"I will not stay out of it, you need to go arrest the people that did this, and it wasn't Tim!"

"And how do you know that?" he asked, hitching up his belt.

"He was with me," she lied, doing a better job of it than just about anyone. "See, we were backstage, getting to know each other."

O'Lafferty eyed her. "You're telling me you were alone with this hood when this happened?"

"Well, you see," she said, her voice dripping like honey. "We were backstage, you know, and he asked me to go for a drive, and I said sure. We were just on our way out to the parking lot when all this happened. He wasn't even inside when all those alarms went off."

Another officer, Captain Sikone, joined them. "We've got a lot of damage here, Pat."

"Damage this miscreant created." O'Lafferty hitched up his belt again.

"Wasn't me for once, O'Lafferty. If it was, I'd say it," Tim said.

"We've got a lot of damaged cars and damage inside the school too." Sikone said. He looked Tim in the eye, but directed his words to O'Lafferty. "It's more than once person could do, and the principal said Tim was inside the gym just minutes before. The sprinklers are triggered from the basement. This wasn't Tim, as much as it smells like him."

O'Lafferty reluctantly stowed his cuffs and let Tim up from the car.

"You may have the Captain snowed, but not me," O'Lafferty said into his ear.

Tim glanced at Sikone, who was giving him a look - the cop was smart enough to know he was involved somehow. Sikone wasn't snowed one bit. That was one thing he liked about Sikone. He played by the rules – no evidence, no arrest. He was an idiot.

The two officers walked towards the fire captain, who was just emerging from the gym. He watched them walk off, and Sylvia moved closer to him.

"Nice save," Tim said to Sylvia. "I owe you."

She shrugged. "I'll collect some day."

"Why ain't you all wet?"

"I was in the parking lot," she said. "Came out to have a cigarette and who did I find lurking around the cars out here, but my dear boyfriend and your gang."

"You came to your junior prom alone?" he asked, hoping to distract her from why his boys were out in the parking lot at prom.

She gestured towards an uncomfortable looking kid in a blue and madras plaid dinner jacket standing about twenty feet away. Sylvia held up her wrist which was covered in the ugliest corsage he ever saw.

"My cousin, Howie," she sighed. "It was the only way Dallas would let me come."

"He didn't want to?" Tim asked.

"No, he's banned from events here ever since Homecoming. And I don't think the musical endeared him to anyone."

"I'm surprised you're talking to him."

She looked over at Tim slyly. "Ain't anyone else worth talking to. And don't worry, I won't say nothing to nobody. I know y'all were up to something. Dallas'll tell me later anyway."

She gave Tim a wink and sashayed over to Howie, yanking him out of the parking lot like a rag doll.

The crowds were thinning out, and he needed to beat it out of there in case people started looking to him.

He took another look around for Annie and finally spotted her, talking to Donna.

Annie's dress was ruined - red and black dye everywhere. Her hair was dark in patches from the dye and it looked like she had blood streaking down her face from the red dye. Her feet were bare, her shoes in her hands, and she looked like something the cat dragged in, shivering in the night air.

She must've felt his gaze on her, because she looked up and right at him. The expression on her face was both angry and heartbroken and she stared for a minute before breaking away and running in the opposite direction.

"Shit," he said with feeling.

* * *

**A/N:** Despite the fact I haven't written the end yet, I am estimating there are 2-3 chapters left. Thanks for all the reviews and comments so far, they're appreciated. My neck injury has made typing really hard so I haven't been able to respond like I would like to. Don't forget to check out Artemis Rex's fic "Luck Be A Lady" which chronicles what's going on at the school musical.


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.

**Author's Note: **One more chapter to go, folks.

* * *

**Chapter 19**

_**Saturday, May 8, 1965**_

Anne's feet were cold.

Her shoes were ruined - every time she stepped in them dye and water squished out, so she took them off. Her dress wasn't salvageable and her eye was stinging from dye getting into it.

She'd never been so scared in her life as she was when the sprinklers went off. They were lucky the band didn't get electrocuted. It was such a mess.

And all Tim's fault.

She had no idea how she hadn't seen it coming. Of course he would pull something like this. Something to humiliate everyone at that dance. She didn't get why she had to be one of them. Maybe it was pay back because she wouldn't sleep with him.

The parking lot was crammed with wet and dyed kids, police officers, fire fighters and cars. From what she was hearing, the cars had all been stripped of valuables. She heard more than a few people grousing about missing hubcaps, stolen radios and floor mats.

She knew Tim was behind it all - it was nothing if not a perfect opportunity for his gang. Mr. Casing's car was in the worst shape - everything seemed to be stripped from it, including the front hood, all the side mirrors and the tires and hubs. It rested on what looked like wooden crates, and all the headlights and taillights were broken out. A second car had been stripped in the same way.

Casing was stomping around the parking lot in a fury over that and his office, which had been burglarized. No doubt Tim was behind that too.

She should have seen it coming. Tim wasn't the type to let a grudge go, she could tell that from a mile away. In his eyes he probably thought Casing had it coming. That still didn't explain why she was shivering in a wet, ruined dress, her stockings filled with runs from walking without her shoes through the parking lot.

She'd seen him in the parking lot, looking at her like he expected her to understand. She was so angry she didn't even want to see him again, and she turned and ran, hoping he wouldn't follow. Of course he didn't.

Donna walked over to her.

"Oh, I'm going to kill him," she said. "Are you okay? I saw him looking at you, I figured that's why you took off."

Anne nodded miserably.

"Do you want a ride home?"

"I'll just mess up your car," she answered. "Anyway, I just want to be alone for awhile. I can't believe this."

"He told me to get out of there. He said he was trying to get you," Donna offered.

She remembered his insistence on a walk. "Yeah. He was."

She sighed. Donna looked around a little, then back at Anne with guilty eyes.

"He said something to me when we were at the Dingo that day," Donna said. "It sounded like he had something up his sleeve about prom. I should've told you, I just didn't think it would be ... like this. You know how all these boys are, they talk a big game. But I guess Tim Shepard backs up what he says."

Anne looked at Donna's sympathetic face and couldn't muster enough energy to be mad she hadn't said anything. The whole night was a disaster. Her only consolation was she hadn't been humiliated in front of a date.

"Where's your date?" Anne asked suddenly. "He was trying to get me out of there too."

"He was?" Donna asked. "Tim told me to hightail it out of there, I did. I thought he was behind me. I found him soaked to the bone in the parking lot a few minutes ago. He took off after he saw me. I guess that's not going to go anywhere."

"I'm sorry," Anne said.

"It's not your fault." Donna stared at some Socs who wandered by, all of them a deep red. "You sure you don't want a ride?"

"I'm sure."

"Call me later, okay?"

Anne nodded, tears threatening to spill over. She watched Donna meld her way into the crowd, then Anne started walking. She was attempting to get out of the lot when Christine stepped in front of her. Christine's powder blue and white lace dress was ruined, streaked with the awful black dye.

"Well," she said. "I see you and your hood boyfriend really did it."

"He's not my boyfriend," Anne stammered. "And I had no idea!"

"Sure," Christine said, crossing her arms. "You spent all that time together and not once did you notice the crepe paper was dyed! Anne, really. You expect me to believe that?"

"But it's the truth!" Anne said.

"And just now I go to my car and I find I'm missing all four tires, the car is up on blocks, my doors are gone, not to mention everything inside. The inside was shredded to pieces. He's going to pay for this! I'm going to make sure Mr. Casing knows he was behind everything," Christine said. "I don't care what I have to do. If I have to, I'll tell Casing I saw Tim pull those alarms myself! He's not going to get away with this."

"You don't even know if he really did do it," Anne said, unsure why she was taking up for him after this. "He was in the gym when it happened."

"Anne, don't be so naïve and stupid. He caused this, and you had a hand in it."

"Please don't be mad," Anne said, tears spilling over.

"Don't be mad? You ruined the entire Junior Senior Prom, you made me look like an idiot, you damaged my car, and you ruined my dress! I'm never speaking to you again, Anne," she said. "And you can forget about cheerleading and homecoming court, and getting invited to anything! You don't exist at this school."

Christine turned and stalked into the crowd, leaving Anne standing in tears.

XXXX

Tim got back to his car and aimed to get out of the area. He laughed when he passed the police cruisers - their hubs were missing. Probably Bill's idea.

He drove up and down the streets, but there was no sign of Anne. It was probably better this way.

She looked like she'd been hit by a car when she'd spotted him, then she'd fled like her life depended on it. He'd be lucky if she didn't pitch her purse at his head Monday morning.

There was only a week of classes left before exams. There was no point for him to go – chances are Casing wasn't going to let him take his exams. He wasn't eager to sit in the principal's office – he wasn't sure where since it was currently without seating – and hear the principal berate him and expel him for good. Easier to just accept it and move on.

So there was no Monday morning for the most part. He might never see Anne again, and he couldn't blame her if that's what she wanted. He knew it'd be bad, but imagining it and seeing it were two different things. He should've just hauled her out of there over his shoulder, but that would've signalled to everyone he was involved. He had to keep a low profile.

He thought about driving to the warehouse, but he wasn't in the mood. Pete would be cataloguing everything, and the boys were probably whooping it up, having a drink and blowing off some steam. He wasn't in the mood to be in the middle of that mess.

He ended up at the abandoned lot in Curtis territory. He always thought of their territory in wry terms – they were hardly a gang. The cold remnants of a bonfire scorched the ground, and there was an old backseat of a car propped up against the trees.

He sat down with the bottle of beer he'd brought from his trunk and started up the fire with a spare match and some newspaper, adding a few twigs and branches until it caught.

No diploma.

He supposed it didn't really matter. People knew he was smart. Graduating didn't have to mean a thing. He'd have the truant officer after him for awhile, but in November, when he turned eighteen, they wouldn't be able to do shit. He just had to find a way to convince Hank to keep him in the house. The money from this car business might help convince Hank. If he could pay the rent up for a month or two, Hank would have to shut his mouth.

He stared into the fire for awhile, drinking the beer and trying to focus on the fact that his gang was soon going to have some money. Some money, a headquarters and more notoriety. It was just a few more steps to taking over even bigger swaths of territory.

That's where his brain had to be now. That's what he had to think about. Not proms and school and sad girls in wet dresses.

XXXX

Anne had dreaded arriving home, but it was inevitable. Her parents were horrified when they opened the front door and saw her standing there. Between tears she explained there had been a horrible accident. She didn't know why she was protecting him - he certainly hadn't done her any favours. She was just a fool, as always.

Her mother helped her change on the back porch, throwing her ruined dress into the garbage. Her mother rinsed her off as best she could in the backyard with the garden hose to prevent her tracking dye inside.

She had a long shower, washed her hair a dozen times and there was still black dye in it in spots. The tub was a dirty mess when she got out, and she put her nightgown on and sat down on the edge of the tub and cried.

Her mother had come into the bathroom and taken her by the hand, leading her into her bedroom and putting her to bed.

She couldn't even think about talking to Donna about all this. All she wanted to do was have a good cry.

Annie turned over with Bun Bun in her arms and tried not to think of school or Tim Shepard. She wouldn't think of him ever again.

XXXX

Curly was sitting on their front porch in the dark with a beer when Tim got home.

"It's done?" Tim asked.

Curly nodded. "Everything's put away. That desk of Casing's looks real good in your office at the hideout, Tim."

"Quit calling it that, we're not the Hardy Boys."

"Where did you go?" Curly asked him. "We thought you were coming around to the hid ... to the downtown place to help us unload everything."

"I just needed some time to think."

"The principal suspect you?"

"Yep," Tim said. "Probably won't let me graduate."

"But Tim, that was the whole reason you did the committee," Curly said. "That ain't fair."

He looked over at his younger brother. "Life ain't fair, Curly. I took a risk, I knew this might happen."

"Still," Curly said.

Tim sat down, took a swig of Curly's beer and stared out into the darkness.

"Was that girl real mad? Everybody looked ticked off. We watched some of it from the trees, until we heard the sirens." Curly snorted a laugh. "Those Socs sure looked good all messed up like that."

"Annie'll have another prom next year." Tim took a drag and blew out a smoke ring.

"You think so? Last I heard before I left the school was Casing threatening no more school dances."

Tim took another drink of beer.

"You shoulda told her," Curly said.

Tim gave his brother an irritated look, and Curly shrugged.

"One thing you gotta learn, Curly," he said. "This gang comes before girls, before anything. I may not like that Annie got caught in the crossfire, but it's what happened. She's a casualty. Not my fault and not hers. Just the way it is."

"I doubt she'll think that," Curly said. He picked up the beer bottle by the neck and headed inside, the screen door banging in the wind.

XXXX

_**Monday, May 11, 1965**_

Anne was loathe to walk into school Monday morning. Her hair still held a big patch of black dye that she couldn't wash out no matter how many times she tried. It was too close to her head to cut off, and she miserably put her hair up into a pony tail and tied it with dark ribbons in the hope no one would notice.

She didn't have to worry about it too much – a lot of the junior and senior classes were still covered in remnants of prom night. Sharon Jervis had cut her long hair up above her shoulders, Pamela Gilford had dyed her hair red to try and blend with the dye, with varied results, and Roberta Howe's hands were dyed so black it made her look like a corpse.

She shuffled to her locker, watching the sophomores whisper behind their hands. Everyone would be talking about this for years, and not for the right reasons. She'd never be one of the in crowd now.

"Hey."

She looked over and saw Donna and Marjorie standing there with their books.

"Are you okay?" Donna asked. "You never called me."

"I'm fine," Anne said. "I just needed to think."

"I think what he did was rotten," Marjorie said. "I heard Mr. Casing called him down to his office after classes today. I bet they'll kick him out for good."

Anne realized she felt sad about it. He just had to go and ruin a good thing for himself and it wasn't fair. Of course, it hadn't been fair Casing stuck him in it in the first place. She was so confused. One minute she sympathized, the next she wanted to drown him in a bathtub.

"Do you wanna go get a malted after school?" Donna asked.

"No thanks," Anne said, her shoulders slumped. "I just wanna get through this week, and then exams. Maybe everyone will forget all about this over the summer."

"Oh, they will," Marjorie said cheerily. Anne looked at her friend's face, but immediately regretted it. Marjorie wasn't a very good liar.

She shuffled down the hall to her classes, but could barely pay attention. At the end of the day, she walked past the office, but there was no sign of Tim.

She didn't know what to make of that.

XXXX

_**Wednesday, May 13, 1965**_

By Wednesday afternoon, Anne knew Tim wasn't coming back. His gang of boys weren't hanging around like the usually did, and she heard whispers in the hall that he hadn't shown up for class all week. If Casing was going to suspend him before, Tim was out on his behind now.

She was coming out of her history class when she overheard Michael and Ken in the hallway.

"Word has it he's going to be expelled for good," Michael said. "I guess she really did it."

"Yeah, too little too late," Ken answered. "It doesn't do us any good now. He already ruined everything. If Casing had listened before, this never would've happened."

"I just realized," Michael said. "That means I'm stuck with Shepard another year. You're lucky, you're graduating. He's gonna be out for blood."

"Nah," Ken said. "He hasn't shown up for classes. Rumour has it he's trying to avoid the police and he knows Casing is going to ban him from the school."

They moved down the hallway and she couldn't hear the rest of their conversation. Anne had a sick feeling in her stomach.

She was angry with Tim, so angry she couldn't even see straight, but she still didn't think he deserved to be punished by not graduating. She could think of a dozen things they could make him do to make up for it. And anyway, it's not like they had any proof.

Anne didn't know what possessed her, but she went by the school office and hovered around outside during her lunch break. She stared at the little bust of Will Rogers, his nose shiny from all the students that would pass by and rub it for luck, especially around exam time, like somehow he'd be a talisman for them.

She waited until Mr. Casing was locking up the outer office doors for lunch before she stood up.

"Miss Macdonald," he said. "Can I help you with something?"

"I just wanted to know about the prom prank and … " She paused. "Well, what's happening?"

"I think you're as aware as I am that Mr. Shepard was involved."

"You have proof?"

"I had a student tell me they witnessed him being involved."

Anne took in a deep breath, anger coursing through her. "It was Christine Weston, wasn't it?"

Casing didn't confirm or deny, and Anne huffed out a laugh.

"Of course it was. She told me in the parking lot right after it happened that it was all my fault Tim did it, when she didn't even have any proof. Then she said she'd get him back for it, even if it meant telling you she'd seen him do it."

Anne paced a little. "It's all the same with you. Blame blame blame. Even if it was his fault, I'm starting to wonder what choice he had! I can't even imagine what it'd be like to have everyone hoping I'd fail, everyone against me. Even my own teachers! Adults should be helping kids like him, not making it harder for them to get somewhere. That Christine is just a … a spiteful bitch."

Casing's eyebrows shot up under his hair.

"He fulfilled your deal, you know," Anne said, looking at the principal with a hard gaze. "Your deal was the prom committee, and he did that. He did it. You're punishing him when he held up his end of the bargain."

"The bargain didn't include destroying the school and stealing from people."

"No," she said. "The bargain was he join the prom committee and stick with it. That's what he did."

Casing looked at her in contemplation.

"Tim probably did do all the things that happened that night, in one way or another," Anne admitted. "And I hate him for it. But I kind of understand it too. It wasn't fair. Now he's going to walk out of here without a diploma even though he earned it. He played by your rules, and he beat you at them. Dammit, I'd have flooded the place too."

She walked down the hall with purpose and into the closest bathroom, where she burst into tears and tossed her math textbook against the wall.

XXXX

Anne skipped out on her math class, but went to the rest of her classes that day. Jim Lewis tried to talk to her in their art class, but she walked out without speaking a word to him. As much as she thought Casing was out of line, Tim was too. If he wanted to talk to her, he'd have to do it himself.

She walked out the front door of the school, aiming to find Donna.

"Miss Macdonald."

She turned around and saw Mr. Casing walking towards her. Her stomach turned to water. He was probably going to suspend her for her little speech, and she had no idea how she was going to explain that to her parents.

"I shouldn't allow Mr. Shepard to pass after all the trouble he's caused, despite the fact we can't prove it."

"He played by your rules," she said again.

Casing took in a deep breath. "Yes, he did. Limited as they were in controlling him."

Casing was off his rocker with that one. She had the feeling no one controlled Tim at all. Maybe his problem had been that he tried.

"If Mr. Shepard passes his exams … I'll pass him. Despite what you may think, I don't want another Keith Mathews at this school. Let him know. I don't want him showing up for class and distracting everyone, but he can take his exams. I'll pass or fail him based on his results."

Anne nodded, too surprised to say anything else. She walked along the long path to the road.

"Hey, what's up? You look like a zombie," Donna said.

"Casing's going to pass Tim if he passes his exams."

"Why do you care?" Donna asked.

Anne shrugged. "It wasn't fair. Casing wasn't living up to their deal and it wasn't fair."

"So why so glum?"

Anne sighed. "I just realized I have to go tell Tim."

Donna looked at her with a bit of sympathy. "Jimmy told me he'll be at Buck Merril's on Friday night. I'll go with you if you want to tell him."

"You will?" Relief flooded her system.

"Sure," Donna said. "It'll give me a chance to have a little chat with him."

Donna walked towards the street and Anne followed, her nerves jangling.

* * *

**A/N:** So one chapter to go, and Anne has to face off with Tim. Do you think he'll listen and take his exams?


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.

**Author's Note: **Last chapter!

* * *

**Chapter 20**

_**Friday, May 14, 1965**_

Donna picked Anne up just after dinner on Friday. Her mother had practically pushed her out the front door, happy to see Anne wasn't moping in her room again. She wanted to be moping in her room. Facing Tim wasn't at the top of her to-do list.

"Are you ready?" Donna said. "I thought we'd go to the diner first."

"Oh … do we have to?" Anne asked. "I don't wanna see anybody."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Donna said. "I told you yesterday I heard people talking and all they were saying is that they felt real bad for you."

Anne glanced over at Donna and gave her a half-hearted smile. "You're just trying to cheer me up."

"It's the truth, honest," Donna said. "I heard Bettie Ann say she felt real bad for you."

"Why?" Anne asked. Bettie Ann Virtue had never said two words to her.

"Well, because you got hurt in all that prom stuff too. She said she knew someone as nice as you couldn't have done something like that. No one believes Christine that you were in on it. I mean, the idea's just crazy."

"You mean it?"

Donna nodded, and Anne settled into the seat and looked out the window. She could still see her hair in the side mirror, and it scared her every time.

She'd washed her hair about ten times since prom, and there were still streaks of black in it. She looked like a horrid mess, and was begging her mother to let her dye her hair blonde with some peroxide. Her mother had put her foot down at that, and Anne had started wearing scarves over her hair when she went out.

The diner was crowded on a Friday night, and Donna had told the truth. Quite a few of the girls came up to her and said they were awful sorry. Despite that, Anne's stomach felt like it was filled with sand. She barely ate anything, but managed to drink two Cokes to settle her nerves.

At Donna's prodding she took the scarf off she'd been wearing over her ruined hair. She didn't think anyone was staring at her, but it was going to be a miserable summer looking like this.

They left for Buck Merril's after, and Anne noted that Donna knew her way there without being told where to go. She was going to have to ask her about that, but after she dealt with Tim.

Donna found a place to park with some trouble, since the makeshift lot was jammed. There were people hanging out around the building, cigarette tips glowing in the evening light. She could hear the loud music drifting outside, and every so often, when someone opened the screen door, the music got louder.

She knew he was in there. She balled her hands up and stretched them out, noticing how they were shaking. She wanted to go in there and yell at him, but not in front of everyone. She was already humiliated enough, and she wasn't about to make a spectacle of herself.

But she needed to know why. All week she'd wrestled with the questions. Why didn't he tell her? She wouldn't have tattled on him, but she would've talked him out of it. She sighed and looked out the window, knowing in her heart he never would've listened.

"Well, let's get this over with," Donna sighed, turning the engine off.

Anne picked at a piece of fluff on her skirt. She didn't want to get out of the car.

"Anne, come on," Donna said. "Stop fussing over how you look. The guy drenched you in water and dye – which is still in your hair – and ruined your junior prom."

"I know," Anne said. "And I'm mad about that, I really am."

"You don't sound like it."

Anne put her hand on the door latch. "I'm plenty mad."

Donna looked over at her, her head cocked to the side. "Anne, I know you like him. I know something happened with the two of you. If you want, I'll go tell him and then we'll take off and you don't even have to talk to him."

"Yes, I do," Anne said. "I need to know why. I mean, I know _why_, I just need to know why he … "

"Why he didn't tell you?"

Anne nodded miserably. "He told _you_."

"Not in so many words," Donna said. "Just stay here and I'll handle it."

"No," Anne said. "I have to do this. I need to."

She opened the door and stepped outside, the air warm, the light fading. She didn't want to go in there and face Tim Shepard, not one bit.

XXXX

Tim walked up to the bar, keeping his eyes open for Jimmy Lewis.

He'd heard some things from an incensed Ray Roth earlier in the day. He wanted to give Jimmy the benefit of the doubt – what kind of fool goes around telling people at school he was in on it? – but he knew Jimmy. If there was a girl involved, Jimmy had probably run his mouth. Tim was gonna have to run his fist into Jimmy's face a bit and make him start thinking with the head on top of his shoulders.

Tim was sitting at the bar, waiting on Jed to get him another beer when he glanced over and did a double take. Anne was standing in the doorway, good ol' Donna behind her, looking like a thundercloud.

"Shit," he murmured, just as Bill elbowed him in the side. "Yeah, I see 'em."

"I'm outta here," Bill said, disappearing into the crowd.

Anne spotted him, locked gazes with him for a moment, then broke eye contact and started threading the needle through the crowd of people. Her hair still had black dye in it, and it reminded him of a patchwork quilt.

"What are you doing here?" he asked with no preamble.

She swallowed so hard he saw her throat move. "I need to talk to you."

He turned towards the bar and took the uncapped beer Jed set down. "So talk."

He tried to ignore the look on her face, that one that wanted to ask why he was being so standoffish and mean to her right now. It was over, all of it was over, and she needed to know that.

"Can we go somewhere quieter? Like outside?"

He looked around the room. People weren't as curious as they would've been a few weeks or months ago. Anne didn't stand out in here like she used to, and Donna had been by a few times before. He glanced at Anne. She wore a skirt to her knees, a blouse and carried a sweater. Not as casual as the girls at Buck's, but sort of the same. She didn't stand out like she used to, and he wasn't sure why.

He walked towards the screen door and opened it, moving down the steps into the gravel lot. There were a few people outside, and Tim gave them the eye and they disappeared around the side of the building. The music was still loud out here, and the air was warm and humid. He lit a cigarette.

Anne came around from behind him and looked up at him.

"Mr. Casing told me to tell you that if you take your exams and pass, he'll pass you," Anne said.

He froze, the cigarette part way to his mouth. He stuck the cigarette between his lips swiftly and looked at Anne. She wasn't trying to fool him.

"He did, did he? You wouldn't have had anything to do with that, would you?"

She shrugged. "I just told him you held up your end of the bargain. You did."

He nodded. That simple truth seemed to have escaped Casing on more than one occasion. He wasn't sure how he felt. He'd just gotten used to the idea he couldn't pass to save his life.

"Well?" she asked. "Are you gonna do it? Will you go?"

He shrugged. "Dunno."

He saw Donna, who was leaning against a Chevy, roll her eyes.

"You don't know? I went out of my way for you!" Anne exclaimed. "The least you can do is be grateful!"

"Didn't ask you to, Anne."

Her face changed when she realized he hadn't called her Annie. Better to end it all now, this way. A clean break. She'd hate him, and they'd all move on.

She looked at him for a moment, her resolve falling apart. He turned away when he saw the first tear. He hated it when girls crumbled like that.

"How could you?" she cried. "I thought you were my friend."

"I tried to get you outta there, Anne," he said honestly.

"Why?" she cried. "Why did you have to do it at all?"

He shook his head, not able to form the right words. He couldn't make her understand how it was. He couldn't let Casing win this one. Not if he wanted to keep his rep, not if he wanted to feel like he wasn't a bug under the man's boot heel.

"Christine came up to me in the parking lot and said this was all my fault," Annie cried. "She went to Casing and said she saw you do it. I don't think Casing really believed her, but she was what he needed to justify it all to himself. I went and turned that around for you!"

She was crying hard, her shoulders shaking. Donna was hovering close by like an angry little hornet.

"She said no one would ever speak to me again for ruining it all, they all think I knew about it," Anne said. "I have to sit there and tell them I didn't know a thing, just clueless, stupid Anne like usual. I know it doesn't really matter, they're horrible people anyway, but you didn't tell me! You told Donna, you told God knows who else, but you didn't tell me!"

Tim tried to look anywhere but her face, but she'd gotten so close to him she was the only thing he could look at without looking like he was avoiding her. A crowd had gathered on the porch behind them. Tim saw Bill, Curly and low and behold Jimmy Lewis was there, along with a bunch of others hovering around the side of the building. They loved their drama around here.

"I trusted you," Anne said, her voice sad and pathetic.

She looked up at him, her eyes sad and angry. She was waiting for an apology.

He couldn't apologize. He wasn't sorry for it exactly. He was sorry she'd gotten her dress ruined and everything messed up, but he wasn't sorry for what he'd done.

"Dunno what to say. It is what it is."

Her expression fell apart, and the disappointment was plain in her eyes. A girl like Carolyn would've slapped him already, and he found himself wishing Anne would.

"Come on inside," he said, trying to at least mend the fence a little. "I'll buy you two a beer."

Anne's eyes widened, and he realized his mistake too late. He put his hand out to guide her back into the building and she dodged away.

"Don't touch me," she said. "Don't."

She was crying heavily now, and she shoved his chest, barely moving him. She turned and marched toward Donna's car, and he could hear her sobs. He was about to step forward, unsure if he was going to go after her or not, but Donna stepped in his way.

"You're a real jerk."

Before he had any time to react, and before he saw it coming, Donna hauled off and punch him in the gut, then swung her purse at him and clipped him in the head for good measure.

He was doubled over, choking out a breath and laugh all at the same time. He straightened up as best he could, a real smile on his face, watching Donna march after Anne, her fists balled up. She was something else.

"You alright?" Bill had a smile on his face as he clapped Tim on the back.

Tim grinned back. "She hits pretty good for a chick. I might not be able to live that one down."

"I won't let you," Bill chuckled.

Anne had looked back, watching Tim with devastated eyes. He remembered making out with her in the front seat of his car, Anne slumped over, half-naked. He remembered her hugging that rabbit of hers, like a scared kid. She wasn't so scared now, he saw that in her eyes.

She got in Donna's car, looking at him as he rubbed the side of his head, checking for blood from Donna's purse. Anne looked satisfied. She put her seat belt on, then stared straight ahead as the engine roared to life.

He watched the tail lights of the car flick on, and Donna tore out of the parking lot like a demon was on her heels. A moment later Donna's tail lights were long gone, and so was Anne.

Tim rubbed his stomach, watching the crowd dissipate. Jimmy Lewis was leaning against someone's bumper.

"Shouldn't have done it to her, Tim."

Jimmy took a slow drag of his cigarette and blew a stream of smoke out a moment later.

"Heard you opened your mouth about being involved."

Jimmy stood up and walked over to Tim. "You shouldn't have done it to her. We shouldn't have."

"It's just her junior prom. She'll have another."

"It's a cardinal sin to fuck with a girl's prom," Jimmy said, his voice serious. "I think it's in the Bible."

"You know what's in my Bible, Jimmy?" Tim asked, seeing Jimmy's resigned expression as Tim put an arm around his shoulders. "Thou shalt not fuck over thy gang. You remember that one?"

"Yeah, that's number two," Jimmy said glumly. "Right after the part where you don't fuck over a Shepard."

"Oh, so you do remember." Tim turned and punched Jimmy in the gut with a swift right jab. Jimmy doubled over and Tim clapped him on the back, then steered him around the side of the building.

He put an arm up under Jimmy's chin and shoved him against the wall.

"That one was personal, from me. This one's so everyone knows you got the shit kicked out of you for speaking out."

Tim punched Jimmy in the eye. Jimmy slumped over again. "It had to be the eye, huh?"

"I'm letting you off easy, not that you're going to tell any of the boys that," Tim said, his voice low. "That's only because I know why you did it."

"She didn't deserve it," Jimmy said again.

Most of the boys never talked out against him, not seriously. Jimmy was looking him right in the eye, and Tim had to respect that.

"Price of doing business, Lewis."

He let Jimmy go, and he went back around to the front of the building. He couldn't fault Jimmy for trying to make things easier on Anne. He sure couldn't do it.

He wandered around to the front of the building, looking up the street where Donna's tail lights had disappeared, nodded to himself, then headed back inside.

XXXX

_**Wednesday, May 26, 1965**_

The senior graduation ceremony was taking place that evening in the school auditorium, and Anne was ushering. The auditorium was filled with parents, grandparents and other students. Anne hadn't seen hide nor hair of Tim Shepard since that night of Buck's. She had no idea if he'd taken his exams or not.

She had asked Jim if he knew, but he shrugged and said Tim didn't tell him much of anything, and Anne figured it was the truth. He had a faded black eye he wouldn't talk about, and Anne figured that was Tim's doing. Every time she thought her anger was fading, it flared right back up again.

She listened closely as they called names out. They skipped right over Tim's and Anne looked down at her shoes, disappointed.

Well, it served him right. He had a chance, she'd given him one, and he'd ruined it. Maybe that's all he was good for, ruining things.

"Don't tell me you're thinking about him again," Donna sighed, whispering as Mr. Casing gave a speech. "He's a jerk. Who cares about him?"

Anne shrugged. "I just thought he'd do it. He seemed to care about his diploma, I thought he'd take the exams."

Donna rolled her eyes. "He doesn't care about anything but himself. You're better off."

"Yeah, I know."

After her confrontation with Tim, all that had been left was exams. She breezed past Christine when she came into the school one day and didn't even look at her. If Christine wanted to spread rumours, let her spread them. She didn't need them as friends, she didn't need anybody.

She looked over to her left and saw Donna leaning against one of the pillars. Maybe not anybody. She needed Donna and Marjorie. Tim had been right about one thing. They were a heck of a lot better as friends than Christine Weston ever would be.

Anne took in a deep breath. She was happy it was summer, happy everyone would forget about the prom disaster by the time fall came. Most of the kids had stopped talking about her, and she hoped by fall it would be a distant memory.

She looked back at the stage and back at Mr. Casing. Maybe Tim got his way after all, kissing off the diploma and Casing, making it all worth nothing in the end.

XXXX

Tim watched as Bill left the building and crossed the street to his car, parked behind the school parking lot. He slipped inside and handed Tim an envelope.

"Anybody see you?" he asked.

"Nah," Bill said. "It was pretty busy back there. They had them all on a table, alphabetical order. I just pulled yours and hightailed it outta there."

Tim pulled the paper out of the envelope. His name was on it, it was signed by Casing and the superintendent. His diploma.

He stared down at it for a few second before pushing it back in the envelope and then tossing it in the backseat. Bill looked over his shoulder at it, then at Tim.

"Not sure it really means anything after all," Tim said, by way of explanation.

"I can tell you what it means," Bill told him. "It says a big fuck you to Casing and the school board. He probably choked on his tie when he had to sign that."

Tim nodded. It might be the only good thing to come of it.

Bill didn't ask any questions as they sat sweltering in the car, the radio playing. He didn't ask anything when people started filing out of the building, or when Donna, Anne and Marjorie left out of a side door.

Tim opened his door and stood up, his arms on the door frame. Part of him wanted to tell her he'd passed. The smarter part of him knew it was impossible. One word from him and she'd forgive him, he knew that. She had a heart, and she'd forgive him.

He couldn't do that to her. He was a death sentence for her at this school.

He was about to get back in the car when Donna turned around. She saw him, glanced quickly ahead of her to make sure Anne hadn't noticed, then turned back to Tim and shook her head, her hands on her purse.

Tim got back inside the car.

"You afraid of her?" Bill asked, amusement plain in his eyes.

"No. But her purse is really heavy," he said in his defence. "I think she's got a brick in there on purpose for me."

"You're afraid of her," Bill chuckled.

Tim glanced back up the street, watching the three girls walk away, then frowning when Jimmy caught up to the group, smoothly worming his way between Marjorie and Anne. He was happy to see Donna reserved a look of disgust for Jimmy as well. That kid never learned.

Even if he wanted to smooth things over, there was no point. He was out of school for good, and Anne would be there next year. Better she get rid of any association with him now. She may not want to be in with the Socs anymore, but without him she might be able to salvage her senior year.

None of it mattered anymore, not for him. He had a gang to run and that was going to take all of his focus. Anne could fend for herself.

He started the engine of his car and pulled away from the school.

It was time for the rest of his life to start.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, that's all folks. Anne's alone, but wiser for it, Tim's alone and probably no wiser because he's a stubborn SOB lol.

Artemis Rex is still working on "Luck Be A Lady" which follows Jimmy Lewis as he and Two-Bit Mathews star in the school musical, along with Sylvia. Make sure you subscribe for updates - it'll fill in some blanks about what went on in this fic.

Thank you to everyone who read and review, or just read. I've got another fic on the deck to start posting in a week or two ... and shockingly, it revolves around Tim.

Thanks again to everyone who reviewed, I really appreciated each and every one.


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